


Sweet Child of Mine

by 19RosesofLifeandDeath98



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Camus - Freeform, F/M, Kirsten deserves a daddy that loves her, camsten, diverges from canon about halfway through first season, the gang is really inept when it comes to feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 77,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/19RosesofLifeandDeath98/pseuds/19RosesofLifeandDeath98
Summary: Kirsten uncovers the truth about her past and begins to reevaluate her present. Who can she trust if everything she every thought she knew was a lie? Cameron, Linus, and Camille are along for the ride as her world is flipped completely upside-down.





	1. It Was Only Just a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely ladies and gents. I’ve started making my own theories about what the big secrets are on Stitchers, and though they’re probably not right, I think there’s enough content to warrant a fanfiction. So this will pretty much be AU past Stitchers Season 1 Episode 7 where Kirsten pretty much just straight up shot Liam down.
> 
> Disclaimer: I obviously own none of the characters and junk.

“There’s nothing there, Kirsten.” Ed said as he sat on the edge of the mattress. 

She wanted to say thank you, even wrap her arms around him, but she didn’t.

Kissing her goodnight, Ed turned away from her, slowly stepping toward the door.

Suddenly music was blaring in her ears, all spectrums of light blurring her visions. The monsters, they were there; slender white fingers reaching over the bed, keeping her there.

“Ed!” she screamed, “Turn around! _Turn around!_ ”

She tried to move her head away from the black eyes staring at her. Something was restraining her, forcing her to look straight ahead. Another flash of light, a crack of the bass, and the white fingers were gone. Wires and tubes were everywhere. The music was no longer a dubstep, just a frantic heartbeat. The strobe lights pulsed in synchronization.

“Kirsten! Daniel, we can’t do this anymore! She can’t take it!”

“It’s her only chance, Jac!”

Headlights were speeding past her window. It was mercifully quite, save the soft murmuring coming from the driver’s seat.

“It’s going to be okay.” the voice was sad and raw, “I’m so sorry, Krissy. It’s okay. We’re going to be- “

They were spinning, sirens were howling, the glass was biting at her skin.

“Wake up, Krissy.”

Curly fur tickled her arm. Lips pressed against her temple.

“Wake up, Krissy.”

The voice was drifting farther away, leaving her.

“Turn around.” she begged, “turn around.”

“Krissy?”

Everything began to shake.

“Turn around.”

“ _Kirsten_!”

Camille was leaning over her, a hand on her shoulder. Her face was firmly creased with concern.

Damp hair clung to Kirsten’s face, sweat beading down her jawline.

“What?” she panted, “Why are you in my room?”

The brunette removed her hand but the worry didn’t leave her eyes.

“I’m _in your room_ because you didn’t shut off your alarm clock and when I came in you were a writhing, crying mess.”

Kirsten would have reprimanded herself for being so childish but her head was still reeling. She buried her fists deeper into the rumpled bed sheets, not trusting them to be still.

 _Alright, Sunshine,_ the voice in her head smirked, _I’ll give you a shiny penny if you can slow your breathing down._

Just like she did after every stitch, Kirsten closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Blood coursed through her ears as her heart beat way too fast.

“Kirsten?” Camille’s voice was tentative, “Are you okay?”

_Why do people always do that?_

“Yeah,” she forced her eyelids to open, “I’m fine.”

Camille and Kirsten both new that wasn’t remotely the truth, but the real concern would have been if she admitted to being upset.

“I’m sorry I scared you.” the blonde spit out quickly, and she honestly was.

“It’s alright,” Camille smiled with both forgiveness and comfort, “we all get nightmares, sometimes.”

Kirsten tensed at her words but didn’t say anything. With one more supportive rub of her shoulder, Camille left her alone in her bedroom. Staring at the doorway, Kirsten unclenched her hands and held them out in front of her. They were trembling like leaves in a storm.

“I don’t.” she whispered.

0o0o0o0

Normally, Kirsten secretly enjoyed morning car rides to the office with Camille. It was like mindless reality television that was on every day and you didn’t need to pay for it. Today, however was not even her definition of normal. Camille’s voice was a dull hum in the background. The dubstep still pulsed through her head and if she closed her eyes, neon painted her vision.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. Like Camille said, everyone got nightmares. But _she_ didn’t. Even when she had been a little girl, clutching onto her covers for dear life in fear of what lay beneath her bed, the feeling hadn’t carried over into her unconscious mind.

She understood that stitching had an effect on her; not just the residual emotions, but it was changing her long term, as well. Still, she’d thought her temporal dysplasia made it virtually impossible for her to experience dreams.

“And then I ingested over twenty five grams of crack-cocaine.” the conversation she was supposed to be a part of was finally registering, “No lie. I didn’t even switch nostrils.”

Turning slowly, Kirsten offered her a scrutinizing expression.

“Just seeing if you were paying attention.” she shrugged.

Kirsten shook her head, “Sorry, you’re addiction story deserves my full attention.”

“Well, they say the key to sobriety is a system of loving friends and family members who will support and listen to you.”

The pair shared a brief, cartoonish look.

“If that’s true,” Kirsten sassed, “then you’re probably better off just not starting in the first place.”

Camille chuckled before nodding in agreement and picking up her speed.

0o0o0o0

May Lin greeted them on their way into the restaurant and winked playfully as they passed through the EMPLOYEES ONLY area. Kirsten slammed the button much harder than she had intended to, jolting Camille.

“Easy there,” she said putting up her hands defensively, “that poor little button hasn’t done a thing to you.”

Before she could remind her friend that buttons were inanimate objects, the metal doors crawled open with a _ding_.

They stepped inside and pressed for descent when Kirsten’s eyes locked on the overhead lights. Suddenly she was in another place, a small room with blue walls and white tile floors. The harsh light from above cast her skin in a cadaverous image.

“Wake up, Krissy.”

 _Ding_. Camille strutted out of the elevator before the doors were finished opening. Kirsten blinked a few times, reassuring herself about where she was, and followed her.

Linus swiveled in his desk chair and met them with a toothy grin.

“Morning, Spice Girls.” he said.

“Morning, Slum Dog Millionaire.” Camille countered.

His grin fell into a pout which she took as a victory. Kirsten came up beside her, shoulders stiff and jaw clenched.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” he stammered, “Rough night?”

Before she could avoid his question, Camille flung her arm around her and said, “Dearest Kirsten had a bad dream last night.”

“Who had what?” Cameron materialized behind the desk.

“Kirsten had a bad dream.” Linus stated bluntly.

“What?” his brows furrowed, turning to her.

Kirsten was now acutely aware of the six wide eyes boring into her. Desperately fighting against the heat rushing to her cheeks, Kirsten stood straighter and fixed her face into a scowl.

“It’s not important.” she deadpanned, pushing passed the group toward the meeting room.

She wouldn’t be able to hold her ground against Cameron’s extensive questioning, she knew that. She just wanted to push it off for now.

Dropping her messenger bag onto the floor, her body practically collapsed into the arm chair. Rubbing her temples, her gaze met with her reflection in the glass table. Linus had the right to be surprised. She looked like something out of Michael Jackson’s _Thriller_ ; purple half-moons hanging low beneath her eyes.

Exhaling, Kirsten leaned her head against the back of the chair. Camille had good intentions- most of the time- but she knew how much she _detested_ talking about herself. She also knew how Cameron could overreact. Why worry him when she didn’t need to?

“Penny for your thoughts, Meriwether?” she heard him take the chair beside her.

Sighing deeply, she opened her eyes and spun around to face him directly. He was leaning forward on his elbows, peridot eyes zeroed in on hers.

“Is a penny all they’re worth to you?” she asked dismissively.

She watched him bite the inside of his cheek, a quirk she’d learned he performed while deep in contemplation.

“We promised, remember?” he coaxed gently, “You said you would tell me when something made you feel uncomfortable.”

“I know, and I do.” she insisted, “This wasn’t related to a stitch… or at least I don’t think it was. Anyway, it isn’t your problem.”

“ _You’re_ my problem, Stretch.” her face softened ever so slightly at the name, “Talk to me, please.”

Even after countless hours of analyzation and theorizing, Kirsten couldn’t understand Cameron’s unconditional desire to help her. She’d thought over every debate, every glance, every action, and still couldn’t use logic to explain any of it. It had become a part of Cameron’s identity, and while she truly did appreciate it, she couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t deserve it.

Accepting defeat, she rested her head on her one palm and relayed to him what Camille had woken her up from that morning. She felt unbelievably foolish during most of it, talking about monsters with long white fingers and menacing strobe lights, but his expression didn’t show any judgement. In fact, it was nearly the opposite. He was staring at her so intensely it was like he was holding onto every word she was saying as some precious thing.

She noted how his muscles tensed when she mentioned the wires and tube constricting her and the panicked beating of the heart monitor. His hands tightened into fists when she told about the voice getting farther and farther away, abandoning her.

Finishing in a huff Kirsten dropped her gaze to the floor while Cameron carefully processed the information. When she looked back at him, he was rubbing his bottom lip methodically with the knuckle of his pointer finger.

“That sounds like a doozy.” he offered lamely.

Kirsten shook her head. Cameron’s expression shifted from an empathetic pout to the anxious look a child wears when telling their parents they failed a test.

“I’m sure it was much worse than I can imagine,” he assured her, “but it’s okay, it was just a nightmare.”

Something in Kirsten snapped and she leaned forward in her chair, startling him.

“I know it was _just_ a nightmare, Dr. Phil,” she hissed, “but for someone who had _never_ had one, it was a little jarring.”

He gaped at her, opening and closing his mouth like a toad. Her outburst left Kirsten feeling tired and even more irritable as she slumped back into her chair. After a few moments of silence, Cameron spoke.

“That was your first nightmare?” He sounded like he couldn't believe it.

“That was the first dream I’ve had since,” Kirsten paused as she searched her brain for an answer, “before I can remember.”

Cameron nodded as if he understood, but the bewilderment in his eyes told a different story.

The blonde sighed and continued, “I thought temporal dysplasia prevented me from dreaming. Do you think the stitching process could have somehow altered that?”

“I don’t know.” Cameron shrugged, “It’s possible now that you’re feeling a larger variety of emotions that your brain is having to go through processes that it hasn’t ever needed before, and that in turn is causing you to experience dreaming for the first time.”

Kirsten narrowed her eyes, feeling the unfinished statement hanging off of his tongue.

“ _Or_?” she slurred.

“ _Or_ they aren’t just dreams.” his voice suddenly sounded reserved, “They’re memories from before your accident.”

She raised her eyebrow at him, “Monsters and dubstep?”

“Not _that_ , obviously.” he said rolling his eyes, “I mean the conversations you heard. You even said yourself that the car crash really happened.”

Kirsten nodded. The thought had occurred to her, as well, but now with Cameron’s confirmation, she couldn’t ignore it. After she wasn’t sure how long, she realized that she’d spaced out and raised her eyes only to find him staring at her. It was more like _studying_ her, as if she were a complicated equation he’d been set with the challenge of solving. No one had ever given her that much thought; no one had tried to _solve_ her. Even Liam had just seemed to accept that he couldn’t understand her and left it at that.

“Thank you.” she murmured, smiling weakly.

When he gave her a perplexed look she wanted to add ‘ _for caring about me_ ’.

Instead she was mute until he echoed, “Thank _you_.”

She mirrored his expression and he continued, “For your thoughts.”

The held each other’s eyes for what Kirsten could call a life time before Maggie walked in followed by their co-workers.

Something about the woman’s gait struck Kirsten. On a typical day- which this day had already proven it was not- she commanded very space she was in with ice cold will power and resolve. Now she looked cautious, maybe even slightly pained.

“What’s up?” Linus said trying to sound up beat.

Maggie’s face didn’t soften. Instead, her stone gaze locked with Kirsten’s. She wasn’t sure what was passing between them, but she could feeling something, almost like a transfer of energy. However, instead of filling her with life, Kirsten felt detached and hopeless. She shivered.

“Megan Werth.” she said pulling up a photo, “Found dead outside of her apartment building early this morning.”

Kirsten felt like she’d been punched, the air leaving her lungs in a violent gust. Her mind processed things in the matter of an instant. It was impossible to surprise her; but even after she identified the woman and what her picture meant, she couldn’t stop the dozens of questions that were racing through her mind.

Cameron turned around when he felt her breath on the back of his head. Her eyes were unfocussed and her mouth hung slightly agape.

“Kirsten?” his chest tightened, “What’s wrong.”

The blonde swallowed, feeling the gazes of everyone on her and hating it.

“That’s Megan.” she breathed, “That’s Ed’s sister.”


	2. Freefall

Kirsten had photographic memory. She knew she only needed to get one good look at something to have it saved and stored forever in mint condition. Now, however, she couldn’t take her eyes away from the screen in front of her, fearing that if she looked away, the woman’s face and name would be lost to her forever.

Megan’s body held that limp, cold look that all corpses did, but elements of her life were still present. Her skin was still painted in copper freckles, her favorite pearls still hanging from her ears. Her strawberry blonde hair was a tangled halo.

Much like when she’d seen Ed dead for the first time, she felt like she’d never seen Megan smile, never been walked to school by her, never heard her play the piano. She’d just always been this… _dead_.

“Ms. Werth was found in the street outside of her apartment building.” Maggie’s voice echoed from somewhere distant, “After investigating, police found signs of a struggle inside of the victim’s residence.”

“Signs?” Linus swallowed, “What signs?”

“Knocked over furniture, broken glass,” Maggie listed, “and a blood trail leading from the victim’s bedroom to her outdoor balcony.”

“You think someone pushed her?” Kirsten heard the voice before she realized it was her own.

She felt the eyes of everyone on her but she couldn’t make herself look away from Megan.

“Yes, that’s what we believe.” Maggie hesitated.

Cameron’s gaze moved between the two women, his expression becoming more and more concerned.

“Maggie,” he said leaning forward and lowering his voice, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Neither do I.” she said keeping her stare on Kirsten, “But the L.A.P.D has no leads.”

“Wait seriously?” Camille spoke up, “No fingerprints, no strands of hair, no nothing?”

“No. This is our best and _only_ bet to find Ms. Werth’s killer.”

Kirsten continued to stare at Megan’s pale face and a horrible feeling she identified as guilt overtook her. She’d told Fisher that she would prove Ed was murdered- and she’d promised herself that she’d find whoever did it and make them regret it. But she’d been sloppy. She hadn’t given it the attention she should have, she hadn’t tried _hard_ enough. Now Megan, Ed’s only family, was dead, possibly at the hand of the same killer.

_It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault._

“Kirsten,” Cameron’s voice reached her like a lifeline.

“Alright,” she deadpanned, “let’s get to work.”

Her tone left no room for argument. Silent as mice, Camille and Linus slipped out of the room with their heads low. Cameron hung back a moment. His body was tense, like he wanted to do something but his conscious was telling him not to. Meeting his eyes, Kirsten thought for an insane moment that he was going to touch her. Instead, the moment passed and he finally stood to leave.

Kirsten stood as well, but Maggie blocked the doorway as soon as Cameron was through. The blonde raised an eyebrow at the intervention. Her superior’s lips were pursed in a tight line.

“Kirsten, I know this may be one of the more difficult assignments you’ve been given, but- “

“Oh please,” anger suddenly filled her veins, “like it makes any difference to you.”

Maggie blinked at the venom in her words. It only fueled the burning sensation in Kirsten’s chest.

“I know why this is _really_ being treated like a Stitchers case.” she took a step closer- towering over Maggie despite her high heels, “You want to know what Ed told her, what secrets she remembers.”

To her surprise, Maggie didn’t show any spark of emotion behind her dark eyes. She wanted to argue with her, wanted to challenge her motives and withhold information from her. Instead, the woman shook her head sadly, and Maggie Baptiste looked centuries older.

“We don’t think Megan knew anything, Kirsten.” she said in an uncharacteristically motherly lull, “But we both know Ed Clark’s death wasn’t suicide. There may be things you discover about Megan’s death that give you more insight into his.”

Kirsten’s ice cold scowl wavered briefly at the sincerity in Maggie’s voice. She’d lumped both her and Les Turner into the same category of people she couldn’t trust but was forced to play nice with because she still needed them. Now, though, she almost questioned whether or not that was warranted.

Shaking her head, Kirsten reformed her revolted expression.

“We’re wasting time.” she chastised.

Forcing her eyes away from Maggie’s, she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and moved swiftly toward her locker to change and prepare for the stitch.

Maggie watched her leave, folding her hands behind her back to keep them from shaking. The irony of the situation made her lips taunt into a faint smirk. If Kirsten had asked, Maggie would have told her that no, she actually hadn’t lied that time. She hadn’t told her everything, of course, but she hadn’t lied.

0o0o0o0

“You ready for this?” Camille inquired as Kirsten stepped onto the lab floor in her stitch suit.

Keeping her expression vacant, the blonde said quickly, “Yeah, of course I’m ready. We’ve done this dozens of times.”

She wanted to move so she was inches from Camille’s face and scream, “Stop looking at me like I’m about the break! Stop acting like something’s wrong with me! Just do your job!”

Not hearing her internal catharsis, Linus smiled at her tentatively before handing her the com-link. She acknowledged him with a nod of her head, not trusting herself to vocalize a ‘thank you’ in the appropriate tone and volume.

As she fastened the device around her ear, Camille began her typical pre-stitch monologue.

“So we just need the standard motive and murderer.” she annunciated her words with her hands, “Something we could use to ID the guy.”

Kirsten’s throat began to burn as she suppressed another scream. She supposed being talked to like she was a fragile child was better than her coworkers being too afraid to talk to her at all.

“Let’s do it.” she forced an easy lilt into her voice- even managed a smile.

Camille looked sympathetic. Linus just looked disturbed.

Kirsten needed to get a grip. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t understand Maggie’s reason for doing this. It wasn’t important that her friends were handling her like one would a grenade without its pin. This could be her chance to find out more about Ed’s death. This could decide whether or not she really had failed him. This was her opportunity to learn the truth. _That’s_ what mattered.

“How’re we doing, Captain?” Kirsten said folding her arms over her chest.

Cameron looked up from his tech like it was a surprise she was there, even though she did it practically every day.

“Uh,” he hesitated before blinking the fog out of his eyes, “things could be worse. The fall caused some serious damage to her hippocampus, which makes it harder to piece together any long term memories. But the short term stuff should be relatively navigable. Just tell me the _moment_ things get weird.”

Kirsten nodded and proceeded to the fish tank. She could feel Cameron’s eyes burning holes into her back and shuddered as if she could shake the feeling off like water.

“I need a go, no go for stitch neuro-sync.”

The chorus of responses became muffled as Kirsten lowered herself into the tank.  All she could hear was Cameron’s voice and the blood pulsing in her ears

Megan was dead. She couldn’t change that. All she could do now was identify her killer and hopefully make some sort of connection to Ed.

“Com check,” Cameron overpowered her thoughts, “How are you doing, Star Fox?”

“I’m doing,” she said sullenly.  

She could practically feel his body tense. She didn’t want to worry him, but she knew he wouldn’t believe her if she said she was fine. So why bother?

“Alright. Initiate stitch-neuro sync, on my mark.” he hesitated just a moment, like her was waiting for her to object.

She remained silent.

Voice stiff, he proceeded, “Three… two… one… mark.”

Kirsten took a breath as she felt the invisible marionette strings pull her mind away from her body and set her on a different stage. The light dropped from blinding to nearly pitch black, disorienting her even further.

“Where you at, Stretch?” Cameron asked insistently.

“I’m in Megan’s bedroom.” she said as her vision adjusted to the moonlit walls, “It’s the middle of the night.”

Kirsten began to tip-toe around the bed, but remembered she was in a memory and had no need to be stealthy. Leaning in close, she saw a cell phone clutched in Megan’s hand.

“She’s got a death grip on her phone.” she observed, “I think she’s waiting for a call.”

“Any idea who from?”

“No.” Kirsten looked deep into Megan’s face.

Even with her impeccable memory, she was sure she’d never seen so many age lines on the woman’s skin. Glancing at the alarm clock on the bedside table, Kirsten saw that it was 3:08 in the morning. The metallic clink of keys and the turning of a doorknob cause Megan’s head to snap up.

“Someone’s coming into the house.” she said, her chest tight.

Camille squeaked, “The killer?”

“I don’t,” Kirsten followed Megan out of the bedroom, “I don’t know.”

Her jaw slacked as she and the memory halted in place, the scene throbbing in her vision.

“Kirsten, you heart rate just spike.” Cameron said in a panic, “What happened?”

“Ed’s here.” she said quietly, damning the empathetic looks she knew were being shared by her co-workers.

Her adoptive father stood in the middle of Megan’s living room, tie horribly wrinkled and expression grim.

“What’s wrong?” Megan raced to wrap her arms around him, “You were supposed to call me hours ago.”

He said nothing. The hopelessness in his eyes made her dizzy.

“Jacqueline’s dead.” His voice was hollow.

Megan pulled back, holing his shoulders firmly.

“What?” she said in disbelief.

“Jacqueline’s dead.” he whimpered, “Daniel’s at the hospital with Kirsten. She hasn’t woken up.”

Something like a gunshot split the scene in two, and all Kirsten could see was the curly auburn fur of a teddy bear.

“Kirsten what’s going on?” Cameron demanded.

“Relax,” she shot back, “they’re just talking.”

The conversation pulsed in and out of audibility. Kirsten could only watch as the demeanor of her former guardian morphed from sadness to total devastation.

“What about, K.C?” Cameron pressed.

‘I don’t know,” she said, “I can’t hear.”

“Linus?”

“Limbic system damage is fragmenting the memories.” he gathered, “Parts of them might be getting left out.”

“Can you move me forward?” Kirsten forced her voice to remain even, “Bypass the fragmentation?”

The room gave way to the cold white light before she centered herself back in Megan’s living room. She and Ed sat on the couch, shoulders touching. Megan was stroking her brother’s head affectionately.

“He’d leave his own daughter behind?” she said with disbelief.

Cameron’s voice disrupted whatever Ed said in response, “Kirsten, if you can’t slow your heart rate I’m going to bounce you.”

“Alright, calm down.” she concentrated on relaxing her breathing.

Ed turned to face her, eyes clouded with moisture.

“I promised that I’d take care of her.” he said.

The details of the room began to blur until all Kirsten could make out were silhouettes.

“Okay,” Megan murmured, “then that’s what we’ll do.”

“The memory line’s expiring.” Cameron said, “I’m relocating you now.”

Light bled across several bookshelves, saturating the multicolored spines.

“I’m in an office.” Kirsten said.

She didn’t mention that it was Ed’s office, the one they’d found him dead in.

“Megan worked at a local adoption agency.” Camille informed them.

“Kirsten, is that where you are?” Cameron asked.

“Yeah,” she lied, “I recognize it.”

It wasn’t remotely the truth. Megan’s office walls were blue, not brown, and they were covered in framed photos of families and children she’d worked with. She’d brought Kirsten to work with her a few times. For hours, she sat in the plush velvet chairs and stared at the faces on the wall.

“They’re all very happy.” she had said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, they are.” Megan smiled.

“Kirsten,” Cameron interrupted her thoughts _again_ , “check in.”

“She’s meeting with someone.” she said, pulling herself back into the memory she was in.

Ed sat on the edge of his desk, knuckles white as he gripped the stained wood. Megan sat in the chair across from him, eyes wide, staring at her hands.

“What do you mean ‘if something happens to you’?” her voice wobbled.

“I mean if what happened to Jac happens to me, I don’t want Kirsten to be alone.” he retrieved a book from the shelf behind his desk, “We’re some of the few people that know the whole truth about her past, and I want someone to protect it even when I’m gone.”

Kirsten recognized the book as the encyclopedia that was missing from Ed’s office when the police searched the crime scene. Now, in Megan’s memory, it was shimmering like light reflecting off of water.

“They’re giving her something.” she reminded herself to keep talking, “I can’t tell what. It’s in a sealed envelope.”

Megan took the book from Ed’s hands, shaking slightly under the weight of it.

“Keep this safe.” he said, “Someday she’ll be ready for the truth. For now, you’re the only person I trust with it.”

She stared at the book in confusion, but didn’t question him.

“There are a lot of emotions around whatever’s inside.” Kirsten said maintaining the charade.

Cameron read her mind, “Kirsten, do not- “

But her fingers were already grasping the book’s cover, heat filling her veins as its energy began to overtake her.

“Kirsten!” Cameron called and she could hear the vague whaling of monitors behind him.

“I’m back in her bedroom.” she said, gasping for air, “Can you slow them down, the images are moving too fast.”

It was like a stop motion film, only there was no fluid end result. The movements and voices were disjointed and hard to make out. Megan was kneeling over her closet, pulling clothes and shoes off of the floor and tossing them behind her. Then the memories skipped ahead just a few moments to where she was pealing the off-white carpet back. There was a hollow space in the floor. Skipping again, the memories showed her placing the book, still shining like starlight, into the hiding place.

“She’s reading what’s in the envelope.” Kirsten willed herself to speak, “She looks upset.”

“End of the line,” Cameron said urgently, “prepare yourself.”

The sunlight vanished and the dark room was only lit by a dim lamp. Megan was slumped over her kitchen counter, a bottle of whiskey held desperately in her hand.

“She’s been drinking.” Kirsten said, disappointment cusped on the edge of her voice, “It’s making everything fuzzy.”

Suddenly the woman burst into loud, roaring sobs.

“How could you leave me?” she screamed, “We were supposed to do this together!”

Launching herself off the counter, Megan stormed into her bedroom, bottle in hand.

“She’s tearing her room apart.” Kirsten watched, frozen where she stood.

Slamming the bottle against the wall, Megan let out another scream as she collapsed to the ground.

“She hurt herself.” Kirsten said, “Her hand’s bleeding.”

Glass shards, some stained with red, scattered all over the ground. After a moment, Megan returned to her rampage, knocking over furniture and yelling as she moved to the living room.

“She’s completely destroying the place.” Kirsten said weakly, not processing what she was seeing.

“Kirsten, you’re running low on time.” Cameron warned.

“Wait,” she breathed, “Don’t bounce me.”

“Kirsten your vitals are going crazy.”

“Do not bounce me!”

Megan had stopped and was staring intently at the sliding door that led to her balcony. As she stumbled toward it and pushed the glass open, Kirsten felt her blood go cold. Clinging to the flimsy railing, another scream erupted from her throat. She stared down at the asphalt road stories below her.

Kirsten gasped, typing frantically into her keypad.

“I heart Linus!” she said turning away as she felt Megan begin to freefall.

Everything felt heavier as her consciousness returned to her body. It took serious effort to open her eyes, breath, and sit herself up in the tank. Her hearing came back rapidly, like she’d just turned up the volume on a stereo.

Maggie stood just across from her, arms crossed over her chest. She stared at Kirsten expectantly, but worry flitted behind her eyes. Cameron was beside her in a second, his features taken completely by concern.

“Megan wasn’t murdered.” Kirsten’s words stung in her mouth, “She killed herself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope the rest of your day is banging. Keep your chins up and I’ll see you next time.


	3. A Game of Risk

The silence of the lab was tangible, like frost biting across one’s skin. Kirsten set her gaze on the rim of the tank, leaving everything else out of focus. If she locked eyes with any of her colleagues, she knew the sympathy on their faces would break her. Without saying a word, Kirsten unhooked the restraints and pulled herself out of the water. Despite herself, she met Ayo’s face as she hesitantly handed her a towel. The nurse closely resembled an owl; wide, round eyes and lips pursed like a beak.

Though she was covered, Kirsten felt completely exposed. She ripped the com-link out of her ear- grimacing at her own force- and wrapped the cloth tightly around herself. Turning sharply on her heel, she moved around the fish tank to meet her superior face to face. Solidifying her expression into an indifferent scowl, she met Maggie’s eyes and held them for several moments.

“You’re sure?” she matched Kirsten’s robotic demeanor.

“Yes.” she said, clearly insulted by the fact she’d even asked.

Looking her over once again, Maggie let out a rigid breath, “Alright. I’ll inform Fisher.”

Receiving that as her dismissal, Kirsten sped out of the lab, dodging Cameron’s arm, avoiding Linus’s apologetic face, and ignoring Camille calling out her name.

0o0o0o0

Kirsten lost herself in the process of drying off and changing into her clothes. She hadn’t lied when she told Sebastian Zuber about her difficulties growing up. On top of being a child with temporal dysplasia, she’d just lost her mother without any memories of her and been abandoned by her father all at once. Needless to say, it wasn’t easy to keep her mind in one place. Now, however, she clung to the simple task of combing through her hair.

“Stop, Kirsten,” Ed would say when she began to stutter and fidget, “Think about what you’re trying to do. Break it down into pieces.”

Taking a deep, filling breath, Kirsten held her hands out in front of her. Regrettably, they were trembling. She inhaled again. She needed to get that book out of Megan’s apartment. Maggie would probably go for it if she said she was retrieving the non-existent envelop filled with Ed’s all important secrets. Cameron would be mad when he found out she lied, but he would understand.

When she looked decent enough, Kirsten returned to the lab with the sole intention of grabbing him and getting the go-ahead from Maggie. She did her best to shake off the feeling of dozens of eyes fixed on her. They didn’t matter.

“Hey, Kirsten,” Camille was the one who dared to approach her, “how are you feeling?”

Again, she felt the instantaneous desire to push her roommate back and scream until her throat was raw. That was ridiculous, she knew. Camille was not a person who knew the construct of pity and she was one of the few Kirsten had ever met that wasn’t afraid to challenge her. That was a major reason why Kirsten had finally accepted that she and the brunette were _friends_.

“Where’s Cameron?” she avoided the question.

Camille’s ruby lips perked up slightly at the mention of his name. Under normal circumstances, Kirsten would have matched her smirk and rolled her eyes.

Then she winced and said, “He asked to speak to Maggie alone. They’re in her office.”

Kirsten nodded before pivoting on her heel and making a B-line for the stairs.

0o0o0o0

Cameron dropped his arm back at his side, fingers still buzzing with the need to touch her. He’d witnessed other people’s grief before, but watching Kirsten was so much worse. He could see the emotions battling beneath her skin as she tried to make sense of them all. After advocating so strongly that Ed’s death wasn’t a suicide, he couldn’t imagine the damage this blow had done.

A faint hum in his ear brought him out of his thoughts and he registered that Maggie was saying something.

“Alex, shut it down.” she ordered.

He blinked at her, glancing frantically between his monitors.

“Levels are stable.” he hesitated, “There’s still a good chance we’ll be able to stich after the refract-“

“There will not be another stitch.” she said, voice rising, “Cease bio-boost injection, now.”

Ducking his head in submission, Alex began disconnecting the corpse. Cameron knew Kirsten wouldn’t be very happy about that, but he was sort of on Maggie’s side about this.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, Chief?” he said before he could second guess himself.

Maggie gave him a stare that would have turned a lesser man to stone. Normally, he would avoid private time with his superior at all costs, but his muscles were coiled like they were ready to explode. She must have seen as much, because she nodded and retreated up the stairs toward her office. Cameron had to remind himself that this woman was his boss and he had to act like he wanted to keep his job, so the choice words he was thinking of were out.

He shut the door behind him, distorting the view of the lab floor behind warped glass. Maggie stood mechanically behind her desk. Cameron didn’t sit either, eyes boring into her face, carefully orchestrating what he was going to say. In the dark, geekiest part of his mind, Wild West stand-off music was playing.

“Pardon my French, Madame,” he said eloquently, “but _what the hell_ were you thinking bringing Ed Clark’s sister into the stitch lab?”

Her viper eyes narrowed to a point.

“Je peux vous tuer avec facilité.”  she spat, “Watch yourself, Dr. Goodkin.”

He shrunk back briefly, memories of traumatic days in French II flashing before him. Shaking his head, he squared his shoulders and set his face in a scowl.

“You refused to stitch Marta because you didn’t think I could handle it.” he put his hand up when she opened her mouth to argue, “Fine, maybe that was true. But _why_ would you put Kirsten through having to stitch her only remaining family?”

He realized how animated his hands had become and balled them into fists at his sides. Maggie didn’t react other than dawning her rehearsed eyebrow raise of disapproval. 

“Ms. Werth was found dead in the street, presumably murdered with no leads as to who her killer was.” she said in monotone like she was reading off of a file, “Our _job_ was to find the truth and we did.”

“It also didn’t hurt that she was the closest living relative of the original creator of the Stitchers Program.” his ears were ringing, “Whatever shady conspiracy stuff is really going on here, _leave Kirsten out of it_.”

“First of all,” she bellowed, bracing her palms against the back of her chair, “you do not give orders around here, understood? Second, what makes you think Kirsten wouldn’t have been in here _demanding_ that I let her stitch into Megan if we hadn’t?”

He knew she was right, but his blood was still at a boil.

“My- _our_ job is to keep her safe. Knowing that Ed died protecting her has made her even more reckless than before. What if Megan was doing the same thing?  Who knows what she’d get herself into?”

Something ghosted across Maggie’s face, “What makes you think Ed Clark died protecting Kirsten?”

He narrowed his eyes, heat rising in his chest.  

“Because she told me about her little conference with Les Turner. He confirmed that Ed didn’t kill himself and he died trying to keep her safe.”  

Her statuesque expression wavered as the clouded glass door flung open.

“I didn’t see what Megan did with the envelope,” Kirsten said analytically, “If we go back and search her apartment, we may be able to find it.”

Maggie beat Cameron to speaking first, “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” she said, unfazed, “Whatever was in it, it made her upset. It may have been what lead her to-“

She gritted her teeth, surprising herself. She knew the word. _Suicide_. Just say it.

Giving up, she continued, “Anyway, we don’t have the whole story, yet. Plus, I’d bet my money that any secrets Ed shared with her are in that folder.”

“I’ve already notified Fisher.” she said tersely, “If the search turns up something, he’ll bring it in.”

Her eyes softened and she let out a breath.

“Kirsten, you’ve been through a lot today.” she gestured toward the door, “Go home. I’ll contact you if Fisher finds anything.”

Cameron, who had been watching the scene in silent dread, tensed as he waited for Kirsten’s reaction. In all his life, he’d never known someone with a mask like hers. He could virtually see the walls going up in her head, hiding her emotions behind blank, unreadable eyes. He watched the energy and charm she’d begun to embrace over the past few months burry itself beneath the surface.

Cameron decided that he genuinely hated Maggie, sometimes. Kirsten really was trying to open up to people- he was proud of her for that- but all it took was one foul move in this game of cat and mouse and the trust he’d been coaxing out of her shriveled into nothing. His green eyes shot daggers at the woman, as if he could communicate all of this through a stare.

His head snapped back to the blonde as she forced the door open and sped out of the room. Cameron glowered at Maggie one last time before following her. He had to speed walk to catch up to her. Her feet were slamming against the tile floor with unrelenting determination.

“Hey, Cupcake,” his breathing was slightly labored, “I- “

She stopped suddenly and he had to hop on his toes to keep himself from running into her.

“Why isn’t Megan’s body receiving any bio-serum?” the edge of her voice was mangled.

For a second he didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about, then the corpse cassette behind her came into focus.

He searched for the words but his chest was hollow. 

“Right,” her lip quivered, “of course she wouldn’t let me stitch again.”

Something was gnawing at Kirsten’s heart. It felt like every breath she took reopened a wound.

“Kirsten,” Cameron began.

“I need your help.” she said taking his hand.

She tried not to dwell on the way his entire body stiffened at her touch or the way her face flushed under the scrutiny of his wide eyes. Urgently, she made her way toward the elevator, Cameron in toe. Camille, who was engaged in conversation with Linus, glanced up at the pair as they passed. She cocked her head to the side, concern knitted in her brows.

 _Later_ , Kirsten mouthed as she pressed the glowing arrow button.

The air between them was thick as they waited for the doors to close. As the lift began to ascend, it occurred to Kirsten that she was still holding Cameron’s hand. She looked at him without turning her head, studying his body language for some kind of answer. He didn’t show any sign that he wanted to separate, so she kept their palms touching.

She said nothing, wanting to be completely out of the lab’s vicinity before she explained what she saw in the stitch. Halfway through their ascent, Cameron’s grip tighten around her and she looked at him in surprise.

“I know you feel it,” he didn’t face her, “the grief.”

Kirsten’s throat went dry.

“Even when your emotions aren’t making sense, you need to let yourself feel them.”

“I _do_ feel them.” she insisted, “I just can’t show them.”

“You can to me.” he met her eyes with livid intensity.

“I know.” she risked intertwining their fingers.

The chime of the elevator door made them both jump. The restaurant must have been in the middle of its lunch rush, senseless chatter and scraping plates replacing the quiet.

Kirsten pulled Cameron quickly through the crowded mass of tables, keeping her focus locked on the entrance. Once they were outside, she released his hand and rubbed both of her temples. Relief made her shoulders sag.

“Come on,” she started down the sidewalk, toward the parking garage.

Cameron hesitated before he walked after her, looking over the hand that had held hers.

When they reached his convertible, Kirsten slid into the passenger seat, leaning back against the head rest.

“I lied about the envelope,” she decided to just be out with it.

Cameron gaped at her, perplexed. Then a horrified comprehension spread across his features.

“Do the words ‘former CIA assassin’ mean _anything_ to you?” he threw his hands up.

“We both know the answer to that, Stud.” she quipped and he banged his forehead against the steering wheel.

“I don’t know why she let me stitch Megan.” she rationalized, “Maggie said that she didn’t think Megan knew anything, but I don’t believe it.”

“You think she wanted to search her memories for anything Ed might have told her?”

Kirsten tapped her fingers against her knee, “I thought so, but she wants to keep us in the dark. Why would she let me stitch and risk unveiling all her secrets?”

Cameron shook his head, knuckles paling to white over the steering wheel.

“What did you really see?”

“A book,” she said, “the one that was missing from Ed’s office. He gave it to her, asked her to protect me- _it_. Protect it.”

She turned her head away from him quickly, internally damning herself. Her gaze flicked up to the side view mirror. In the very corner of the reflection, she could see Cameron staring at her much like he had when he showed her the video of Marta’s last stitch: like there were a million things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.

“Anyway,” Kirsten folded her arms over her chest, “it’s hidden in her apartment. Whatever’s in it, Ed wanted me to find.”

Cameron nodded before revving up the engine.

“Then let’s go get it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, story time’s over for today. Thank you so much for reading and I will see you in the next chapter. =)


	4. Eight Floors Up

The silence between them was compensated for by the rush of wind and mundane sounds of L.A. traffic. Today seemed so tragically, painfully average from the surface. Like any other day, Kirsten didn’t feel a jolt of nostalgia every time they passed a pedestrian with strawberry curls. She didn’t wince when she spotted a low-key music store displaying Megan’s favorite classic records, and it was irrelevant that the blue of the afternoon sky was the exact same color as the dress she wore to Kirsten’s high school graduation.

She dug her nails deeper into the denim of her jeans. She had said nothing about this to anyone- although she could infer that Cameron already knew- but she truly did like the person she was becoming because of stitching. Life didn’t flash in front of her like images on a screen, anymore. Experiences had color, memories had emotions, and people left an impact. Now, however, was one of the times she hated all of it. Without stitching, she wouldn’t be dwelling so much over what she couldn’t change.

“Krissy?” a chill crackled down her spine and she shuddered.

“What?” her voice was tight as she turned to the driver’s seat.

Cameron glanced away from the road briefly to raise a concerned eyebrow at her.

“I said ‘Hey, Kirs-Tron, what’s your plan if Fisher’s already at Megan’s place?’”

“Oh,” she shook her head, “I thought about that. He doesn’t know that Maggie doesn’t want us there, and assuming that she hasn’t called him back to relay that information, he shouldn’t suspect anything.”

“ _But…_ ” he prodded.

“ _But_ ,” Kirsten rolled her eyes in exasperation, “if he won’t let us in, we can go back tonight.”

Cameron shrugged his shoulders and forced a laugh, “What, you think we can break in?”

“No, Bond, I know where she hid an extra key.” he looked relieved for a moment, then she added, “But yes, I think we could climb up the fire escape, if we needed to.”

“Unbelievable,” he sighed.

0o0o0o0

Thankfully, the parking lot was devoid of police cars and ominous black minivans. As Cameron turned off of the street, Kirsten was careful to keep her focus on the dashboard, glad that she didn’t know the _exact_ spot where Megan’s body had been found.

“Lucky for us,” Cameron noted as his eyes scaled the building, “it doesn’t look like we’ll be needing the fire escape.”

Despite the knot in her stomach, Kirsten smirked, “We could try it just for fun. The apartment’s only on the eighth floor.”

“ _Oh yeah_ ,” he sounded enthralled, “let’s do it.”

They got out of the car at the same time. Kirsten swallowed, trying to force the bitter taste out of her mouth. Eight floors. She’d jumped from eight floors up. Tilting her head back, the distance that Megan had plummeted settled in. Her heart began to pound violently inside her chest and the sick feeling of weightlessness- _falling_ \- rippled through her body.

Cameron, who was holding the lobby door open for her, noticed her shiver and instinctively placed his hand on the small of her back.

“You alright, Cake Pop?” the playful nickname unable to obscure the concern in his tone.

“Yes,” Kirsten answered too quickly, “I just… I feel…”

A professionally dressed woman pushed past them to enter the lobby, making her lodge her words back into her throat. Glancing apprehensively between Cameron and the woman, she latched onto his shirt sleeve and pulled him inside.

“I’m just getting some of the emotions Megan felt as she was falling.” Kirsten met his eyes briefly before turning toward the elevators.

 “ _As_ she was falling?” Cameron echoed, “I can’t imagine being able to feel anything other than complete terror.”

He regretted the sentence as soon as it left his big mouth. His pupils grew wide and his cheeks flushed with self-loathing.

“I don’t mean,” he said frantically, “God, I’m sorry. Kirsten, I-“

“It’s okay,” she pressed her index finger to his lips, “I had the same thought.”

For a moment, the only things his mind could focus on were the warmth of her touch and the caramel scent of her skin.

Shaking his himself out of the stupor, he said, “So, what exactly are you feeling?”

A disruptive chime made them both turn their heads. The elevator doors had hardly opened when Kirsten slid inside. Her fingers were shaking as she pressed the button and her chest felt unstable, like it might concave.

“Anxiety,” she determined, “but I think that might just be me. I know I’m feeling her regret.”

When she saw Cameron pale, she added, “Not about jumping. I don’t know if she would regret that or not. There’s just… a lot she wished she had told Ed before he died.”

_There’s a lot I wish I had told him, too._

Cameron’s expression softened like he could hear her thoughts- and sometimes she wasn’t certain he couldn’t. The stern woman in the pantsuit glided into the elevator just as the doors began to close and hit the button for the tenth floor. Kirsten didn’t pay her any attention, keeping her gaze tied to Cameron’s. The green orbs were a lifeline, fastened around her heart and pulling her closer to him.

The brunet almost took a step backward but her pleading eyes made his muscles lose function. They were searching him- _boring_ _into_ him- as she analyzed every line of his face. Shifting on her feet, she moved so that her lips were just beside his ear.

“Just because Megan committed suicide, doesn’t mean Ed did.” she whispered.

Cameron seized slightly like she’d shocked him.

“ _What_?” he kept his voice light with conscious effort.  

“Fisher hasn’t officially reopened the case, yet.” she explained in an unsteady tone, “Ed’s death is still listed as a suicide.”

“ _Okay_ , but what-“

“Didn’t you see everyone’s faces at the lab?” her voice turning bitter, “They think they know the truth but they don’t.”

“Kirsten,” he leaned back so that he could see her face, “I don’t understand.”

She stared at him for a few painstaking moments, brown eyes wide and bottom lip trembling, slightly. It felt like her heart had turned to stone and sunken deep into the pit of her stomach. She should have been used to people not understanding her. While she worked in her computer science program, the only thing she needed anyone- her classmates and professors, included- to understand was that she was smarter than them and they should just stay out of her way.

That wasn’t enough, now. She wanted her friends- Cameron at least- to see that she was more than a robotic shell. She needed him to tear down her walls and see the twisted mass of emotions inside. She needed him to guide her- just like he did in a stitch- because without him she was lost in her own mind.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head, “And I don’t know how to make you.”

His lips parted as his expression visibly dropped. Kirsten sucked in air like she’d been punched. She hated herself, she really did.

The elevator halted as it reached the eighth floor, making the both of them sway. The woman in the corner, who hadn’t looked up from her Blackberry the entire ride, didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry,” Kirsten breathed, dropping her eyes and turning quickly out of the lift.

Cameron felt the growing distance between them in his chest, crushing his heart tighter and tighter.

 _My poor, sweet Lost Girl_ , he thought chasing after her.

Kirsten was storming down the narrow hallway at a demanding pace, movements silent and stiff. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead at floor-length window at the end of the corridor. Cameron’s voice buzzed behind her, but all her senses began to fail. Red pulsed at the corners of her vision. She _hated_ herself for not being able to just spin around and throw her arms around him. She hated that she couldn’t cry into his shoulder as he made empty promises about how everything was okay. She hated being her-defective-mechanical-unfeeling-self more than anything in the world.

Stopping just short of the window, Kirsten stared first at the sky then at the quiet street below.

 _Eight floors up_ , she thought as the weightless feeling took her over.

“Kirsten, please,” she felt his hand on her forearm, firm and even a little possessive.

She didn’t respond, only shifting her eyes to look at the sky, then back at the ground.

 _Eight floors up_.

“ _Kirsten_ ,” Cameron side-stepped in front of the glass.

Her shoulders were caged by his hands, her face trapped directly beneath his livid gaze. It was as if he’d cut a tether, all of her thoughts freed from whatever had overcome them. She blinked feverishly and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to compose herself. He must have noticed because everything from his stare to his grip relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her eyes closed, “I’m sorry. I think residual emotion is affecting me more than before.”

He was rubbing his thumbs slowly back and forth across her collar bones. Even through the fabric of her shirt, she could feel the warmth of his skin. She focused on it, not trusting her mind to wander anywhere safe.

“That may be true,” he sighed, “but that’s not all of it.”

It took all of her strength not to collapse into him right then and there. Pulling his hands off of her, she walked backwards until she was pressed up against the wall. Hoping that he didn’t notice how much her legs were shaking, she slid into a sitting position with her hands clasped atop her knees. Cameron followed, kneeling in front of her and placing his hands on top of hers. If he couldn’t see her trembling, he could definitely feel it.

Kirsten titled her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She didn’t need to be looking at him to know he was giving her that affectionate, worried eyebrow wrinkle. She had all of his expressions committed to memory, but that one made her feel the strangest.

Before she could try and match a word to it, Cameron interrupted her train of thought, “How were people looking at you in the lab?”

She forced her eyelids open but still couldn’t look at him.

Staring intently at their clasped hands, she sighed, “Pity; that poor girl who can’t feel anything, losing two guardians to suicide.”

“Kirsten, that’s not-“

“They think they know the truth but they don’t!” she finally met his eyes, “Everyone thinks they know him but they don’t!”

She balled her hands into fists, her anger a sharp contrast to Cameron as he lovingly stroked her knuckles.

“You knew him.” he said, voice thick with compassion, “And there are people who know the truth. Someday, we’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

She was silent for a moment, then said, “I don’t care if people take pity on me, but I care what they think about Ed.”

The reality of this settled across her skin like goosebumps. Now that she’d opened the gate, her insides were left feeling dry and hollow. Glaring at their hands, she intertwined their fingers like she had back at the lab. After a taste of it, she found that some of their usual forms of contact were no longer satisfactory. She wanted to play with the small freckle on his left pinky and the rough callus on his right ring finger.

Shaking the thought away, she pushed herself back onto her feet. Cameron waited a bit before he did the same, looking up into her face for more. When it was clear he wasn’t going to get it, he heaved himself up with a sigh.

“So where to, Stretch?” he said glancing between each side of the hallway.

Silently, she fixed her eyes on the door directly behind him. Cameron whipped around, eye level with the metallic 820. Stepping around him, Kirsten raised herself onto her toes and groped above the doorframe until she felt the key. It was covered in dust from what must have been years of neglect.

“Megan had offered to give me a key,” she remembered vividly, “and I looked her dead in the eyes and asked her when she thought I’d ever visit.”

Her fingers were already splayed out- waiting- when he took her free hand in his. She squeezed it tight as she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it’s a tad short but I decided to split it here to prevent having one sumo chapter. Thank you so much for reading and I’ll see you in the next life!


	5. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s in store for this installment? MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…. don’t hate me

Kirsten knew that it was entirely normal for children to be afraid of the dark. Temporal dysplasia, however, made it almost crippling. She could remember lying awake in bed, paralyzed, until the threat of monsters became too great for her to ignore. Forced to abandon what little safety her nightlight offered, the young girl willed herself to leave her bedroom in search of Ed. His door was only a few feet away from hers, but if felt like she would wade blindly through the hallway for an eternity. Every heart beat was a lifetime, each step took her an eon.

As she matured, much or her personality hardened, but the fears didn’t let go so easily.

“Rip the Band-Aid off fast,” she would tell herself as she took to Ed’s bedroom in a run, “Don’t stop, don’t second guess, and don’t look back.”

As Kirsten entered Megan Werth’s apartment, Cameron’s hand clutched desperately in her own, she placed herself into that same mindset. Keeping her head low and stare fixed on her feet, she sped through the entryway. Cameron gasped at the state of the living room and kitchen, but she didn’t give him a chance to take any of it in. The eerie sound of crying echoed in her head and she tried to push it away before it turned into screaming.

“The book’s in the closet.” she stopped short, nearly tripping on a knocked over lamp, “ _Son of a-_ “

“Easy, Titan.” Cameron seized her elbow with his other hand, pulling her upright.

She turned her head to give him a hard look, which he countered with a trenchant narrowing of his eyes. They shared a gaze for several moments before something behind her made his jaw slack. Kirsten brought her attention back in front of her and felt her palette go dry. 

It was unquestionable that Megan had done the most damage to her bedroom. The mahogany wardrobe leaned against the foot of the bed, drawers open with clothes spilling onto the floor. The nightstand was toppled over, several picture frames cracked and battered.

Regrettably, Kirsten had to release Cameron’s hand in order to weave around the wreckage. She felt lightheaded by the time she reached the closet door, bile rising in her throat when she saw the bloodstained glass against the wall. The smell of the whiskey was still heavy in the air.

Cameron followed her line of sight and sucked in a breath.

“Hey, Stretch,” he grabbed her shoulders and forced her to turn away, “look at me. _Look at me_.”

She did and it was miraculous how much more stable she felt with his green eyes as her anchor. Filling her lungs, she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Her heartbeat was in her ears, but it was beginning to relax.

“Thank you. I’m okay.” she almost chuckled at how utterly unconvinced he looked, “Help me move stuff.”

Together they pushed the sliding doors apart and knelt down to pull assorted articles of clothing and pairs of shoes off of the floor. Kirsten’s palms were sweating as she reached for the trim of the carpet, pealing it back to reveal the hollow space she had seen in Megan’s memory.

Relief coursed through her like a spike of adrenaline when she saw the worn leather bound book. Her chest heaved as she feverishly brushed away the cob webs and dust clinging to its cover. Though she was no longer in Megan’s mindscape, she was certain she could still feel the raw emotion trapped within the off-white pages.

“This is it.” she stated obviously, voice light and distant.

Her fingers trembled with greed, wanting nothing more than to ripped the book open and scrutinize every line, but she knew she couldn’t.

“Fisher may be here soon.” she faced Cameron, “We need to put everything back where it was.”

He nodded. They rearranged the closet at top speed and slid the wooden doors shut.

“Alright, Darling,” he said, extending his hand as he stood up, “let’s make like a-“

“Like a banana and split?” she looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, “Seriously?”

“I was going to say ‘like a tree and leaf’, thank you very much.”

“How about you both make like ice and freeze?” the pair snapped their attention to the doorway where a very irritated Quincy Fisher stood with three other policemen.

Without hesitating, Kirsten set the book on the carpet and slid it under the bed in one fluid motion. It was so slight, Cameron nearly missed it, himself. The detective did not seem to notice however, expression never changing. Kirsten accepted his hand and stood up.

“Even if it doubles as a cop pun that was beneath you, Fisher.” she said mechanically.

He still didn’t react other than raising his hand to gesture at her then at Cameron.

“You two,” he said pointing his thumb over his shoulder, “out.”

They moved silently through the debris, Kirsten pushing her way past the officers while Cameron avoided eye contact and muttered apologies. Continuing into the hallway, they both heard Fisher relay some kind of orders to his associates before falling into step with them.

“So the weirdest thing just happened.” he mocked, “Our favorite stitch supervisor called me- while I was on my way here, mind you- to tell me that under no circumstances were a Mr. Goodkin and Miss Clark allowed onto the crime scene. Why do you think that is?”

“You know Maggie.” Kirsten spat, “Withholding information, keeping us in the dark, the usual.”

Cameron’s chest tightened at the bitterness in her voice. He wanted _so_ badly to reach for her hand again, rub his thumb across her skin and watch her scowl soften into the Kirsten he knew. Fisher’s presence stopped him but he couldn’t control the way his fingers ached to touch her.

“Kirsten,” Fisher sighed as they waited for the elevator, “Maggie’s just trying to protect you. You’re already too close to this.”

“ _Really_?” she whipped around, fire in her stare, “And you think that means I should just sit back and do _nothing_?”

He opened his mouth to respond but she was still on the offensive, “I should just bite my tongue let you handle it? Because you did such a fantastic job with Ed?”

“ _Kirsten_.” Cameron squeezed her forearm harder than he’d intended.

She didn’t flinch, eyes locked with Fisher’s in silent battle until the doors chimed open. He pulled her inside, keeping an arm around her the entire descent.

0o0o0o0

She didn’t know why it surprised her to see Maggie Baptiste waiting for them in the parking lot. Sending Fisher to do her work for her seemed to be enough, but Kirsten was touched by the concern. Features sharp as a blade, their superior waited until they were in arms reach to speak.

“I may not have been very clear,” she said stiffly, “but when I say go home, I mean _go home_.”

Cameron swallowed hard but Kirsten rolled her eyes. The action seemed to have sent Maggie over the edge, the intensity of her stare shifting from stoic to explosive.

“Detective, Doctor,” she addressed them coolly, “would you please give Miss Clark and I a moment?”

Sharing an uneasy glance, the men retreated toward Cameron’s convertible, looking back periodically to make sure neither of them attacked the other. Maggie composed herself, breathing deeply and straightening her shoulders.

“Kirsten, if I am going to keep you safe, you _need_ to stop fighting me at every single turn.”

The blonde gave her an awed expression, “You really want to keep me safe? Tell me the truth about why I’m in danger.”

Maggie hesitated like she was debating her answer before saying, “Whoever murdered Ed Clark may or may not be after you and everyone involved in the Stitchers program. We didn’t think that would extend to people like Megan, but it’s possible that we were wrong.”

“And you think _not_ letting me help will somehow get in the way of that?” she narrowed her eyes, “Or is it because somewhere down the road, I’ll learn the truth about the program’s purpose and want nothing to do with it?” 

Maggie’s face contorted into a grimace, but before she could respond, there was an ear splitting crack and her chest heaved backward. Kirsten’s heart stopped mid-beat and without cognitive thought, she was reaching out for her.  Another crack rattled her skull and fire erupted from her shoulder. The pain was raw and consuming. She felt a cry rip its way out of her throat, but it sounded so distant, like the screeching of tires or the fracturing of glass; sounds that belonged to a long forgotten memory, fleeting and fading away.

0o0o0o0

“Risky move,” the detective said when they reached his car, “You’re going to be feeling her wrath much harder than I will.”

Cameron leaned against the passenger door, brow knitted tightly in confusion.

“Maggie or Kirsten?” he asked.

“Both.” Fisher smirked.

Cameron shook his head and looked down at his feet. Both women were terrifying in their own right. He wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of. Fisher pinched the bridge of his nose and ran a hand over his face.

“You really can’t keep doing this.” he said with exasperation.

“Tell that to her.” his tone was bittersweet, showing both fondness and frustration.

“It wouldn’t do me any good.” the detective gave him a knowing look, “She only listens to you.”

Cameron was about to joke about how ridiculous that statement was when the sky split in two. He ducked his head on instinct, ears ringing. Fisher moved in front of him, his wide frame acting like a shield against the unseen threat. His mind was racing almost painfully from thought to thought when the second shot pierced through the air, accompanied by the most horrific thing he’d ever heard: Kirsten’s scream.

He took off in a sprint, hardly even registering Fisher telling him it wasn’t safe. All of his mental energy revolved around her. The only thing he could see was her body fall limp against the asphalt. He pushed his legs faster.

“Kirsten!” he screamed, dropping onto his knees beside her.

His heart was dangerously close to tearing its way out of his chest, but he couldn’t have cared less. All that mattered was her, her, _her_! 

“Kirsten!” her name came out as a plea, “Kirsten, talk to me!”

He rolled her onto her back, choking at the red blossoming across her shoulder. The bullet must have gone straight through.

“Kirsten,” his hands enveloped her face, “Kirsten!”

Her eyes were glossy like those of a neglected doll, looking lazily over his face. Details drifted in and out of focus, the voice beginning a decrescendo.

“Krissy,” it said sweetly, “Krissy, it’s going to be okay.”

It sounded so sad, but so warm. It lulled her breathing to slow, everything beginning to go numb. The voice was familiar, but just out of her reach. Eyes staring down at her faded from green to brown.

“Dad?” she whispered before the numbness consumed her and everything was dark.

0o0o0o0

It took the collective effort of Fisher, Maggie, and one of the paramedics to separate Cameron from the unconscious woman in his arms. They were speaking to him, but the language had left his memory. All he knew was that she was dying. Kirsten was dying and he’d been not twenty feet away from her. He couldn’t breathe- didn’t _want_ to breathe if she wasn’t.

Time must have been broken because it wasn’t flowing the way it was supposed to. One moment, Fisher’s arms were around him, holding him back as they cut open her blood soaked shirt. The next, he was pinned against the walls of an ambulance, crying with relief every time her breath clouded the lining of the oxygen mask. Walking into the hospital ticked by in slow motion. Now instead of policemen and paramedics holding him back, nurses and doctors were pressing their hands against his chest, keeping him from following her into the ER.

“Sweetie, she’s critical.” one said to him, “They’re prepping her for surgery, now. I need you to calm down.”

He isn’t sure how long he stands in that waiting room before Maggie, Fisher, Camille, and Linus arrive. Her roommate’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears and Linus has his arms around Cameron instantly. It’s enough to pull him out of whatever dimension he was drifting through and back into the present. He stares at Maggie with wide lost eyes, only realizing now that she, too, had been at the receiving end of a gunshot not a few hours before.

“I’ve been taking precautions ever since Marta.” she said unbuttoning her jacket and blouse to reveal a thick layer of Kevlar.

“It should have been you!” he wanted to scream, “It should be you on that operating table, not her! _Not her_!”

He wasn’t sure what he would have said if the nurse hadn’t walked in, stealing his undivided attention. She was a coarse looking woman with tight features that seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t begin to place them.

“The bullet came out clean.” she said without any emotion in her voice, “Grazed the left subclavian artery, but we stopped the bleeding before it was too late. Amazingly, her heart was completely untouched. She’s extremely lucky.”

They all let out a breath together.

“Can I see her?” Cameron couldn’t have kept his voice from cracking if he’d tried.

The woman’s eyes turned cold as they narrowed at him, then at the crew behind him.

“Miss Clark is in a very delicate state. Immediate family, only.”

“I’m her fiancé.” he said without thinking.

He could hear Camille yelp in surprise and Linus make what sounded like a squeak- hell, he could _feel_ Maggie and Fisher raise their eyebrows but he just didn’t care. He _had_ to see her. 

“Immediate family, sir.” she repeated, “I don’t think-“

“Oh for the love of God, child!” an older nurse with wrinkled tan skin said as she came up beside her, “Can’t you see how distressed the poor man is?”

Turning to him with soft, warm eyes, she said, “Your fiancé’s in room 3318, dear.”

He breathed out a thank you before taking off down the hallway without the slightest idea or care what his friends did after that. The corridor seemed hopelessly infinite until his eyes zeroed in on the four digit room number. Every sense in his body felt like it had been turned up to maximum, any higher and he was going to burst. His hand was shaking uncontrollably as his fingers curled around the door handle and pushed it open.

Dread filled him, for a moment. She was so pale, a shade he’d only ever seen on subjects from the lab. But her chest was rising and falling, which meant she was alive. As long as that was true, he could hope, because he knew Kirsten. She was the girl with no intention of dying. She was the girl he’d trusted with his heart, and he knew she wouldn’t leave him like this.

None of this stopped him, of course, from collapsing into the chair beside her bed and bringing her limp hand to his lips. He kissed her forcefully, desperately, like he could bring the color back into her skin just by sheer will. Her doe eyes were closed and an oxygen tube sat just below her nose. The vulnerability of it shook him to the bone.

He was stroking her cheeks with his fingertips when the kind nurse from earlier came in carrying a stack of clothes.

“We saved what we could, dearie, but I’m afraid the sweater’s absolutely ruined.” she placed the folded jeans and black shoes on the chair beside the door.

He was about to attempt to thank her when something slipped out of the jean pocket and clattered onto the floor. The nurse bent down and scrutinized the thing in her palm before advancing toward him.

“Is this anything important?” she asked, innocently.

Cameron felt a wave of emotions engulf him as he stared at the small stone in her hand. He took it without speaking; he couldn’t, his ribcage was suffocating him. After a full minute of silence, the elderly nurse backed slowly out of the room. The door clicking shut felt like a nail being driven into his chest.

“To protect your heart,” he murmured.

That was his last clear thought before he buried his face in her hair and broke down, completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, who’s traumatized? You are? Well alright! Thank you so much for reading and I’m sorry I’m not sorry! See you next time!!!!


	6. Story Telling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Do you still hate me after that last chapter? Good. Thank you to everyone who has been supporting me and this story. Enjoy!!!!!  
> Some quick things: I obviously don’t own Stitchers…. yeah I’m still pretty upset.

“Mommy, you’re home!” a boy barely a week over seven years old called as he charged down the stairwell.

The woman’s shoulders sagged as she exhaled, the child’s voice working like medicine to clear away the tension in her face. She stooped down and braced herself against the front door as he pounced into her arms. His weight filled in the gaps that left her feeling hollow during the day.

“I’m home, Baby.” she reassured him, “How was school?”

The pair drifted into the living room where Mommy sat in her ‘special chair’ and the boy sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. His chocolate eyes were bright like sparklers as he relayed his exciting itinerary to her. In total honesty, she wasn’t retaining a word he spoke. All that registered in her mind was that he was happy and talking and the sound was the most comforting thing in the world. She pushed brunet curls out of his face, combing her fingers through his soft hair.

That, his eyes, and his sweet button nose were the strongest features tracing back to her. She was grateful that he had inherited his father’s smile and round, friendly face. His skin was almost a perfect balance between theirs, a shade or two lighter than her own.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she chimed when he threw his hands up and let his mouth hang open, dramatically; she didn’t know what he’d said, but he looked excited about it.

“I’m not! That really happened.” he beamed with childish pride, “Mrs. Burns said she’d never seen anything like it.”

“Well that’s because she’s never seen anybody like you, Ben.” she leaned in close and tapped her finger right in the center of his chest.   

Her son’s grin stretched all the way across his face and it caused her to seriously question how she’d ever gotten so lucky.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, Ben asked, “Is Ed coming over, tonight?”

The warm, airy feeling that had been swelling in her quickly dissipated as the bitter taste of a lie filled her mouth.

“He had some things to finish up at the office, Sweetie.” every word was a struggle to stomach, “He’ll be there to pick you up from soccer, tomorrow.”

“Okay.” he said innocently, “Maybe he can come to my game on Friday!”

It was amazing how much power his words had over her. His charming prattle about silly cartoons and imaginary friends could sedate her like morphine while simple questions like “Where are you going?” or “Why can’t I come?” made her heart ache.

She plastered on a fake smile; he was too young to know the difference.

“Maybe,” she rubbed her thumb across his cheek.

Swallowing her own conflictions, she forced herself to sound at ease when she said, “Right now, though, it’s time for someone to get ready for bed.”

“Can you tell me a story, first?” he pushed himself up on his knees so that they were at eye level, now.

“Of course, Baby.”

She couldn’t tell her only child the truth about what she did for a living. She couldn’t give her son the commonplace experience of ‘take you kid to work day’, but she could do this. She could tell him a story.

He changed and brushed his teeth in record time, diving under the covers and eagerly awaited his mother’s tall tale. She switched off the lights so that the only illumination in the room was coming from the Transformers lamp on his bedside table.

“Do you want me to read you a story or do you want me to make one up?” she made herself comfortable on top of his sheets.

Ben tapped his chin methodically before saying, “Make one up! You make up the best stories.”

 _Sweet child of mine_ , she thought sullenly, _if you only knew_.

0o0o0o0

Secrets had always been poison to Magritte Baptiste. They’d cost her the first man she’d ever loved. They’d cost her the trust of her only child. They’d cost her any chance she had at living normal life. Even now, more than decade later, she was still paying for them.

“You shouldn’t be here.” she hissed without turning her head toward the footsteps.

She could tell who it was by the pungent scent of cologne and distinct grey aura that could only belong to Leslie Turner. His movements were patient and precise, like a jaguar circling its wounded prey. It knew that it had already won, so it carried itself without reserve or doubt.

“I wanted to make sure our chief asset was safe.” he said indifferently.

Maggie straightened, feeling her pulse rise.

 _She has a name, you bastard_.

“The doctors don’t suspect that there will be any permanent damage,” she still did not turn her head, “but they can’t say when she’ll wake up.”

Maggie felt so useless standing in front of the large window that looked into Kirsten’s hospital room. Thick blue blinds had been drawn halfway, providing the couple inside with a miniscule amount of privacy. Cameron was sound asleep on a spare bed that one of the nurses had brought in for him, his hand reaching over the gap to rest on top of Kirsten’s. The worry lines that remained on his face even as he slept made her heart constrict.

Despite this, she smiled internally. It didn’t take special-ops training to see that the poor boy was in love with her. Kirsten loved him, too, Maggie was sure. It was harder to tell- by medical standards she was supposed to be incapable of an emotion so strong- but that made the signs shine even brighter against her mechanical guise. Watching them interact filled her with the strange, buzzed feeling of déjà vu; the charismatic, gentle prince breaking down the walls of the distant but longing princess.

“When she does wake up,” Maggie said sternly, “I’m giving her the next two weeks off.”

At this, Turner allowed his collected demeanor to waver. His brows knitted together in a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“What makes you think I would allow that?” he kept his tone steady, but something was boiling just beneath the surface.

Finally, Maggie let him feel the complete ferocity of her stare.

“She can’t stitch again until she’s fully recovered.” she dared him to challenge her, “That includes both physically _and_ emotionally.”

Turner scoffed, “Don’t you think you’re being just a little bit too generous, Magritte.”

Her stone face didn’t crumble. Turner let out a weak, patronizing laugh before turning his attention to the window. Kirsten was still as pale as a shroud, the slight rise of her chest being the only sign that she was alive. His eyes wandered over the woman’s sleeping form, then across the screen of each monitor she was hooked up to.

Something beneath the surface of his face changed and if Maggie had not been eyeing him with the most acute focus, she may have missed it. His expression softened, not enough to what could be called compassion, but perhaps understanding. In his mind, Kirsten may have been nothing more than a piece on a chess board. Now in the blue light of the Intensive Care Unit, there was no more ignoring reality; she was flesh and bone and just like that, she could break.

“Fine,” he said- the cold edge returning to his voice, “ten days and then we get things back on track.”

Relief hugged her for a moment before memories of the day’s events chased it away. They stood in silence for another minute, watching the hands on the wall clock tick by into morning.

“You’ve been in contact with Fisher.” she said tersely- it wasn’t a question.

Turner nodded stiffly.

“Sniper,” he said shifting closer to her, “vacant apartment on the tenth floor.”

“And vanished without a trace,” anger and disappointment dripped off of her tongue.

The metronome of the wall clock again filled the gaps in conversation. It needn’t be spoken aloud. Both minds were already adding to their network of theories and uncertainties. As the web spun, something was biting at the tail of Maggie’s thoughts. It had been since she received the corpse file that morning.  

“Why did you bring in Megan Werth’s body?” she questioned.

Turner looked at her like it was obvious, “Because we were under the impression that the poor woman was murder and sought justice.”

When she didn’t respond, he lowered his voice, “We’re well aware of the fact that Jacqueline Stinger and Ed Clark’s death were connected. We thought it possible that Ms. Werth was another link in that chain.”

Maggie nodded slowly, cogs turning to process that statement. It was not a shock to her system. From the moment she’d been informed about Jacqueline’s accident, she’d known there were darker forces at play than a mere hit-and-run. The theory that Ed was possibly brought down by the same hand was no surprise, either.

“Kirsten has been getting close enough to the truth on her own.” she paced several steps away from him, “Letting her sift through the memories of Ed Clark’s closest relative and friend was _unbelievably_ risky.”

Turner’s lips quivered at the corners like she’d said something amusing.

“We had our team run a brief analysis before we sent Werth’s body to you.” he explained, “They were confident that there was enough cranial damage to prevent Kirsten from navigating any long term memories.”

“They were wrong.” Maggie halted mid-step and spun on her heel to shoot daggers into his forehead.

Turner glanced up at the ceiling, briefly, as if the declaration was so obvious he couldn’t maintain his composure. Heat flare in her veins once again. Then the feeling simmered to a dull burn and Maggie felt hopelessly alone. She’d isolated herself from people while the program was just getting off the ground, not wanting to waste any time on distractions.  She’d manipulated and lied to those that were supposed to be her friends for the sake of progress. It was only after she’d succeeded in pushing them all away that she realized what horrors had unfolded right under her nose. By then, it was too late.

Now she was walking the razor’s edge, a battlefield on each side. After everything she’d worked for, she couldn’t just sit back and watch the program fall apart. But Kirsten- she’d _promised_ Ed she’d always look out for Kirsten.   

“I take it you’ve reviewed the footage from the lab.” she exhaled as she got her breathing under control.

“Yes, I have.” he said, “This envelope she mentioned…”

She could feel the thought they shared between them like an ultraviolet ray.

“Do you think it could be,” she hesitated, “the final part of the algorithm?”

His eyes hardened into steel, “It’s more probable that Ed Clark destroyed it either shortly before or after Jacqueline’s death. But we can’t rule out the possibility.”

Maggie felt her chest tighten with understanding.

“If it is, it changes everything.” the rise in her voice could easily be mistaken for excitement instead of fear.

Turner smiled at her paling expression, “It does. Fantastic, isn’t it?”

Before Maggie could try to swallow the bile in her throat, her eyes met a figure approaching from behind Turner and her shoulders sagged with relief. She held the nurses’ charcoal eyes for several moments, silently thanking her for having such impeccable timing. The woman carried her head high, but stiffly, like a mannequin. She looked as if she were about to pass straight by them when her gaze latched onto the blonde on life support and her eyes widened.

“What is he doing in there?” she demanded, clearly fighting to keep her voice from rising.

Maggie glanced between her and the sleeping Cameron.

“I’m sorry is there a problem?” she countered, brows furrowed in a line.

“The _problem_ is that he hasn’t left that room since she was brought in.” the nurse seethed, “It’s inconvenient enough for the medical staff, but now he’s _sleeping_ in there? On _hospital property_? This is absolutely ridiculous!”

Maggie gawked at her, not caring about subtlety.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Miss, he is her fiancé.” she said the word with such ease, she thought momentarily that it may be true.

“I don’t give a-“

“Good Christ, child,” someone said from behind Maggie, “would you let the poor man be? You’ve been trying to get him to leave for hours.”

An older Hispanic woman in a nurses’ uniform and scrubs appeared beside them. Her vintage tan skin was wrinkled and relaxed, showing such contrast to the other woman’s sharp features and tense presence.

“I pulled that bed in so he didn’t have to sleep in that terribly uncomfortable chair.” the kind nurse explained, “It needs a new wheel or something or other fixed before it meets regulations again so no one is using it.

Not waiting for a rebuttal, she continued, “We’ve allowed more than immediate family to stay overnight, before. So don’t you start with me saying that a _fiancé_ is breaking any rules. Besides, do you want that sweet girl to have to spend the night alone?”

Mean Nurse didn’t say anything. Her eyes were a murderous shade as she turned between the three of them and then into the room between Kirsten and Cameron. Setting her jaw in a hard position, she pivoted on her heal and stormed down the hallway, pulling a Blackberry out of her uniform pocket just before she rounded the corner.

“I’m so sorry about her.” the nurse said, “She’s new here- first week actually.”

“Hopefully her last.” Maggie muttered without thinking.

She let out a breathy chuckle and left.

Again, silence settled across her skin and she fought off the need to shiver. Trying desperately to push her own feelings aside, Maggie locked her gaze onto Kirsten’s heart monitor. The doctors had told them that if Kirsten made it through tonight, she was probably going to be fine. The wall clock read 12:19 am. She just had to make it a few more hours and they could breathe easier.

Cameron stirred, slightly. Already on the edge of the bed, he unconsciously inched closer to her. His fingers tighten around hers. The simple, mindless movements made the corners of her eyes sting.

Turner must have been observing it, as well, because he was clenching and unclenching his jaw methodically.

After another moment of quiet, he said, “Dr. Goodkin cares a lot about her.”

He sounded like he was inquiring about the subject, as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious.

“I believe he does.” Maggie’s voice was laden with caution- her mind running at warp speed.

Turner visibly processed this information. His expression was dangerous.

“Say we find this envelope,” he proposed, “and the final part of the algorithm is inside. Say we can go forward with Phase Three.”

He jerks his head toward the sleeping pair, “Will _he_ get in the way of that? Will he be a problem?”

The question felt like a blow to the stomach, pushing the air out of her lungs. Deep down, every part of her knew that they weren’t safe. Kirsten- oh _Kirsten_ \- was doomed from the beginning, but Cameron? Maggie had allowed herself to think that maybe she would be able to spare him. If he had just seen those stone walls and run away. If Kirsten hadn’t let him spark that connection. If they hadn’t fallen in love- maybe she could have saved him.

The lie on her tongue tasted like blood as she turned to him and whispered, “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop, there it is. Getting good yet? Please let me know, I am a sucker for feedback. Thank you all so much for reading and I will catch you on the flip side. Bye!


	7. Cracked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Stitchers and Trivia Crack are not owned by me in any way.

Kirsten remembered trying to explain to Cameron in detail what temporal dysplasia felt like. He had never asked her- the respectful gentleman that he was- but she could see the gears in his head spinning with curiosity.

“Another enigma for you to crack, Mr. Science.” the wine overtaking what little filters she had.

Her description had changed over the years, but eventually she’d settled on one that she liked.

“It’s like I’m floating through life.” her eyes narrowed as his lips quirked upward, “Shut up. Really though, it’s like…”

Her muscles tensed as she searched for the words. It was hard with the way he was looking at her, like she was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. Her chest felt tighter, like a panic chord was wrapped around her heart, pulling her closer to the center of the couch. He reciprocated by setting his glass down on the coffee table and shifting so he was facing her square on. She held his gaze for a moment before dropping it to his shirt.

“Imagine a tether,” she said, and as she stared at his chest, she could see it, “and your whole life it’s keeping you grounded.”

Cameron nodded. The green of his eyes was electric. Kirsten’s palm began to tingle, liquid courage pulsing through her veins. She extended her hand to press it flat against his sternum, right on top of his scar. He inhaled sharply and she didn’t dare look at his face.

“Imagine its cut,” the reserve in her own voice surprising her, “and then you’re just drifting. Time is nothing but this endless, empty space. Emotions are there, but they’re faint and out of reach and you can see them but you can’t hold onto them.”

The words stung as they left her mouth, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Dropping his head, he sighed and his breath danced across her knuckles.

“Things are different now, though.” he rubbed circles into her forearm with his thumb.

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to comfort her. Kirsten released his shirt and held her hands in her lap.

“I know,” she said, defeated, “but sometimes all that does is make me realize how much I’m still missing.”

His expression softened, “You’ll get there.”

There was no question in his statement, three words filled to the brim with hope. He believed in her- _trusted_ her- and that was both empowering and slowly killing her.

0o0o0o0

Once again, she was weightless- she was _nothing_.

Kirsten tried to take in her surrounds, which was fairly easy because everything was black. Were her eyes closed? There was no sensation that told her she’d opened them and none when she raised her hands in front of her. She couldn’t feel _anything_. Was she dead? Cameron would be so pissed.

“I’m sorry, Kirsten.” a voice echoed from behind her.  

There was still nothing but darkness.

“This is all my fault.”

The words were raw with sadness and she was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to cry.

“Krissy wake up, please.”

They were in pain- so much pain- and it was because of her. Somehow she knew the voice was sad for her.

“Sweetheart?” the sound was coming from all directions, now. “If you _do_ go see Mommy, will you tell her I’m sorry?”

At the mention of her mother, Kirsten instantly had form. Every nerve in her body was accounted for with intense clarity. She could feel the oxygen circulate through her lungs, the wires and tubes all across her skin, the soft fur beneath her fingers. She felt chapped lips press against her temple and then they were gone.

Her senses shifted between feeling nothing and _everything_ until she heard another voice beckoning her.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Kirsten.” it was Ed, “You deserve so much better.”

Warmth cascaded over her. Something flashed out in the darkness, like a firefly. It was dim and didn’t last, but she kept watching for it to return.

“I promise I will always protect you.” it flickered again, a little brighter.

She waited a lifetime before it returned.

“Your Dad loves you, Kirsten. He really does. Please don’t forget that.”

Kirsten felt her heart burst in her chest, the explosion splitting open her skin and sending shockwaves into the blackness. At the same instant a gunshot pierced her ears and left them ringing a deafening tone.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Cameron’s voice pushed through, “look at that.”

The ringing stopped and started in a steady, alert rhythm, dimming until it was a simple hum.

“Pulse is rising. That means you’re getting closer to consciousness.”

Smooth fingers webbed in between hers. She clutched them desperately, like a knight would hold his shield in the midst of battle. Heat enveloped her again, but this time it was searing in her veins. Color crackled in the darkness like fireworks across the night sky.

“The doctors say that it’s only been two days,” he scoffs bitterly, “ _only two days_.”

She felt as if an eternity passed, the soul sound in the dark void being the syncopated ringing, before he spoke again.

“Every _second_ you’re in this bed, Kirsten Clark, and not by my side is wrong. Every moment your eyes are closed and not glaring at me is like a knife in my chest. I can’t-“

The light flared with every word he said, growing brighter and brighter each time.

“You’re brave, you’re stubborn, and you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

Something pulled her upward, easing the pressure in her head like she was getting closer to the surface of the water.

“I _need_ you to wake up, Kirsten.”

The light was eating the black and she wished she could cover her eyes.

“Wake up.” chimed again and again, old and new voices forming a chant, “Wake up. Wake up. _Wake up_.”

And she did.

0o0o0o0

 

“Linus?” Kirsten winced at how brittle her voice sounded.

Her colleague’s head snapped up from his phone so fast she thought for a moment he may have injured himself. Without hesitation, he burst from his seat against the wall and was at her side in a single bound. His hands shook as he gripped onto the rim of the bed, eyes searching her like spotlights.

“Holy crap,” he stammered, mouth still agape, “you’re awake!”

If she had felt like expending the energy, she would have rolled her eyes.

Instead she let them close again and groaned, “Yes, I’m awake. Stop yelling at me.”

Linus blinked at her as if she’d said it backwards before he remembered what his indoor-voice was.

“Sorry,” he spoke in a merciful whisper, “sorry it’s just we started to think that maybe you weren’t going to…”

He swallowed hard and averted his gaze. The silence prompted Kirsten to push her heavy eye lids open long enough to look deep into his face. Velvet shadows hung below his eyes and his muscles slacked with exhaustion. A sour feeling swelled in her stomach that she recognized as guilt.

“What happen?” she asked innocently.

The last thing she could recall was stepping out of the elevator with Cameron’s arm around her, Fisher in toe. Vestiges of anger still pulsed under her skin.

Something flashed across Linus’s expression, like she’d cursed him.

“Well I can only give a personal account.” he placed his hands on his hips, “One minute Camille and I are in the lab- trying to figure out a Plan B after Maggie pulled the plug on Megan- and the next we get a call from Fisher saying you’ve been shot.”

Kirsten felt like she’d crashed into a window, Linus’s words cutting deep into her like shards of glass. She traced backwards through her memories and tried to find the last thing she’d said to him. How in the dark had she left him? Remorse rose in her throat like bile, making it hard to speak.

“I didn’t even say _good morning_ ,” her lip wobbled, “I could have died and never have even told you good morning.”

Despite what Cameron would say if he was asked, Kirsten had been well aware of the fact that they all could have died at the hands of Dr. Barmul’s mystery virus. She wasn’t about to let that happen, but the thought had been present in the back of her mind ever since the lab sensors went off. Despite this, she still hadn’t seen Cameron’s point in calling Liam. Their “last” exchange had ended on a fairly positive note, so why waste time?

This felt completely different. Knowing that Kirsten nearly died without having said a word to one of her closest friends ate at her like acid.

“I’m sorry, Linus.” she offered quietly, trying to keep her breathing under control.

The hard features of his face immediately dropped and he shook his head.

“It’s okay, Kirsten.” he squeezed her forearm, “I’m going to go get the nurse.”

“No!” she panicked.  

He was going to leave her and she couldn’t face another eternity alone.

“No, please don’t go.” she said in a much calmer tone.

Linus’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he nodded mutely. He pressed a button on the side of her bed that he said would summon one of the doctors. Then his hand traveled along the panel until his fingers hovered over two yellow arrows.

“Let’s see if we can’t make this a little more comfortable.” he added a seductive swing to his voice that made the edges of Kirsten’s mouth twitch.

A buzzing sounded from behind her head and then the bed was folding into a fairly cozy recliner.

Before she could manage a “thank you”, a tall woman with shining red hair and a much older Hispanic woman walked into the room.

“Ms. Clark,” said the red head, “I’m so glad to see that you’re awake. My name is Dr. Barry and this is Nurse Aiza. We’re going to do some routine checks to make sure everything’s alright.”

Without being asked, Linus took a seat back against the wall and watched as the staff poked and questioned his colleague. Kirsten’s eyes remained locked to his like he was going to disappear. She only turned away when she was asked to follow Nurse Aiza’s finger.

“Alright,” Barry chimed, “we’ll have a few more tests to run in time, but you seem to be looking good, Kirsten. Nurse Aiza is going to get you a sling for that.”

She gestured toward Kirsten’s heavily bandaged chest and shoulder, “It’s just to keep it immobilized so you don’t tear any stitches and reopen the wound.”

Kirsten’s throat was so dry she couldn’t speak, so Linus swooped in beside her to thank them.

Once the sling was fitted around her shoulder and the nurses left, the blonde expelled the breath she’d been holding and leaned back into her pillow.

“Waking up is exhausting,” she croaked, letting her heavy eyelids shut.

Linus let out the ghost of a laugh, “Come on, Stiff, you can sleep when you’re dead.”

Anyone listening in would have called him insensitive, but Kirsten understood his humor and was so _unbelievably_ thankful for it. She balled her free hand into a fist and rubbed the soft cotton of the blanket into her palm. Confusion covered her faced as she eyed the knitted material. It’s orange, purple, and brown stripes stuck out in sharp contrast to the blank hospital room.

“This… I recognize this.” she said, volume rising above a whisper, “This is Camille’s.”

Linus looked down at the quilt a nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“She was in here, yesterday.” his head was still turned toward the blanket, but she could tell he was looking past it into a memory, “She would be here now, but she had this presentation that counts for like 10% of her grade and I wouldn’t let her miss it.”

Kirsten processed this, taking in a quick breath at the sudden rush of gratitude that struck her. Camille had proven that she could act like a decent adult sometimes, but not enough to keep her from worrying. If she died, who would look out for her?

Traveling farther down that protective train of thought, Kirsten’s chest tightened.

“Where’s Cameron?” the words tumbled out her mouth with concern thick on her tongue, “He was with me when we left. Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah chill.” Linus snickered as he waved his hands in front of him, “Cameron’s fine other than the fact he’s being freaking out over you seven ways to Sunday. This is the longest he’s been gone in like eight days.”

Kirsten couldn’t have kept her expression neutral if she’d tried.

“ _Eight days_?” she gawked, “How long has he been gone?”

Linus drummed his fingers against the bed as he looked at the wall clock. It was 3:27 in the afternoon.

“About an hour and a half.” he shrugged.

Cameron had spent 99% of the 192 hours she’d been unconscious _here_ , by her side. She couldn’t process that.

“Believe me,” Linus settled onto the foot of the bed, “he would be here now, but I told him he was in desperate need of the trifecta.”

Kirsten blinked at him.

“The trifecta,” he continued, articulating each point with his fingers, “sustenance, shower, and sleep. Poor guy hasn’t had much of either.”

For the first time since she’d woken up, Kirsten noticed the empty bed that was pulled up beside hers, so close that the rims were touching. In her mind she could see him lying there, forehead creased with stress and hair a total mess.

“Thank you, Linus,” she turned back to face him, resting her hand over his, “for taking care of them.”

Finally, the warmth of his smile reached his chocolate eyes.

“It’s what I do.” he bowed and waved his hand with mock elegance.

Kirsten’s face remained sincere, “But I never thank you for it.”

His grin stiffened unnaturally.

“Its fine,” he said, “I don’t really care.”

“Yes you do.”

The signs had been there from the beginning and she just hadn’t noticed them. Was her temporal dysplasia to blame, or was she just an awful person?

Before either of them could answer that question, a muffled whizzing sound emanated from somewhere in between. Kirsten cocked her head to the side as Linus pulled put his smart phone. He glanced between her and the screen nervously.

“Sorry,” he blushed, “Trivia Crack.”

When he started to slide the device back into his pocket, Kirsten made a squeak in protest.

“I’m great at trivia.” she declared, shifting as far over as she could on the bed.

 Linus stared at her, bewildered for a moment before readjusting himself to sit beside her.

“I warn you, my parents are practically unbeatable.” he said at which Kirsten scoffed.

“Bring it on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that you enjoyed this installment. Thank you so much for reading and I’ll see you when I see you!


	8. Love and Other Drugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any of you hankering for some extra Camsten? I had a feeling you would be, so I worked up this little number just for you. Thank you guys so much for all of your continued support. Enjoy!  
> Disclaimer: Obvs don’t own Stitchers. Oh well.

Cameron knew Camille and Linus saw him as a pretty trustworthy guy. Well, Camille would have used words like _square_ or _Mama’s boy_ , but the point was that when he promised them he’d go straight home to rest for a few hours, they believed him. They really should have guessed that all of that went out the window when Kirsten Clark was involved.

Saying that she was his first priority would have been an understatement. More accurately, she was his _only_ priority. That’s why- running on two hours of sleep- Cameron was at her front door, using the spare key the girls had given him to get inside.

Camille had laid out about a million ground rules regarding what he could and could not touch while Kirsten, surprisingly, handed the key to him like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“You know my kitchen better than I do, at this point.” she’d said, and he knew she was referencing the weekend he had come over and completely reorganized their untidy cupboards and drawers.

He threw his jacket over the end of the couch and sluggishly made his way to the blonde’s bedroom. Stepping through the threshold didn’t even phase him, anymore. The first several times she had allowed him inside her inner sanctum, he’d been more than hesitant. Now it was just another room they shared, joking that they lived at each other’s houses interchangeably.

Cameron bent down by the outlet to charge his phone and set a timer for three hours. That was the _absolute_ maximum amount of time he was willing to stay away from the hospital.

 _Hell, it’s only been twenty minutes and I want to go back_ , he thought, hopelessly.

Something in the base of his skull began to buzz, making him twitch. He groaned and rubbed his temples as he turned around, knowing very well what followed that feeling.

“What do you want?” he asked impatiently.

The blonde figure before him straightened defensively.

“Excuse you, Snappy,” she said crossing her arms over her chest, “this is my house.”

“No it’s not.” he hissed, “This is Kirsten’s house. _You_ are not Kirsten. You are a hallucination that my brain is creating because it’s pissed at me for not having slept in the past eight days.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you need to take a nap.” she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

Cameron stared down at the apparition with contempt. This had started happening somewhere around day five. It was as if his mind couldn’t handle Kirsten not being awake, it couldn’t survive without her snarky comments or subtle smiles. It wanted to put her where she belonged, alive and by his side.

“It’s your fault I can’t sleep.” he challenged, moving around her to the closet.

It wasn’t real, but he swore he could feel the heat of her gaze on the back of his head.

“How is this my fault?” she pressed.

Cameron shook his head as he began digging for the leather backpack he knew Kirsten kept lying around somewhere- the neat freak in him internally screaming at her ”organized” chaos.

“I am not going to have this debate with a hallucination of the girl I love.” he muttered.

Tossing the bag onto the bed, Cameron looked to see Faux Kirsten’s mouth hanging agape, her eyebrow raised to say ‘ _are you kidding me_ ’.

“What?”

“Why is that so easy for you to say _now_?” she laid flat on her back, “Why can’t you tell me that when it matters?”

“Um… gosh, I don’t know.” he tapped his chin, “Maybe it’s because you’re not real?”

Faux Kirsten, staring up at the ceiling, narrowed her eyes and scoffed, “Come on, Doc, don’t sugar coat it.”

Cameron felt a shiver creep up the length of his spine, launching him back into motion.

“Please stop with the nicknames.” he begged as he padded over to the night stand.

“Why?” she raised her head to look at him, “And what are you doing with my Walkman?”

“Because she would come up with a much better name than _Doc_.” he huffed, shoving the radio and its cassettes into the backpack, “I am taking _Kirsten’s_ Walkman to the hospital. The brain is stimulated by familiar voices. I figure… I don’t know, maybe hearing Ed will…”

He stiffened, concreate filling his veins. Moisture stung behind his eyes.

_Maybe hearing it will wake her up, bring her back to me._

He stared down at the device in his hand, clutching it like his entire future lay inside.

“Cameron?” her voice sounded torturously real.

He needed to drown her out. He needed a shower. Without risking another glance in her direction, Cameron turned on his heel into the adjacent bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Camille had often complained- out loud- that Kirsten was not utilizing the master bedroom to its full potential. The brunette kept her room twice as messy, used twice as much closet space, and spent thrice the amount of time in the bathroom. In her mind this entitled her to the larger room and its perks. While not normally one for excess, Cameron had to agree as he looked around the nearly vacant bathroom.

Her favorite grey sweatshirt lay crumpled on the floor next to a blue pair of boxers, the ones she’d worn after her first stitch and never given back to him. Cameron moved slowly, his blood pulsing painfully behind his eyes. He picked up the clothes and tossed them into the laundry hamper beside the bathtub. The habit of cleaning up after her was one he’d developed from the first day. Small things like this had earned him nicknames such as _Nanny McPhee, Mary Poppins,_ and _Governess_ \- which became his favorite because Kirsten always said it in a snooty British accent that made his insides light up.

Grabbing a towel out from the cupboard under the sink, Cameron turned the shower faucet all the way to the right.

“Yes, please help yourself to my bathroom.” _her_ voice drifted in from beneath the door.

Rolling his eyes, Cameron pulled his shirt over his head and replied, “This isn’t _your_ bathroom. And I’ve done it before.”

That fact meant nothing to anyone but him. When he’d stripped completely he stepped beneath the stream of scalding water. His skin flushed crimson almost immediately, but he didn’t care. The burning flesh at least momentarily distracted him from how much his head hurt, how much his bones ached. He allowed his heavy eyelids to close, twisting his shoulders in a futile attempt to relax the tense muscles.  

“Is this the book Ed gave to Megan?”

The question caught him off guard. He’d completely forgotten that he’d had it.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, not bothering to open his eyes, “I stopped and swiped it from her apartment on the way here.”

“What’s in it?”

“Stuff.” he mumbled indifferently.

“Seriously?” she sounded closer now, “You’re not going to tell me, Stud?”

“No, I’m not,” he finally opened his eyes, “and I told you to stop with the nick-“

All the air left his lungs in a startled gasp and he stumbled backward into the wall. Kirsten- no, not Kirsten, _not Kirsten_ \- stood directly in front of him. She was in a hospital gown, which was quickly becoming soaked, sagging past her shoulders enough to reveal a collage of bandages. Her face looked pained and pale.

“You asked me to trust you.” her voice cracked.

He could barely hear her over the rasping of his own breathing. A stone dropped into the pool of his stomach, sending a wave of nausea through him. Cameron pressed his trembling hands against the cool tile.

“No,” he uttered with every pounding heartbeat,” no, no, no.”

The water seeping into her clothes left a deep red stain- _blood_ \- and ran down the length of her body onto the floor.

“I did, Cameron.” his throat went dry when she whispered his name, “I did.”

He stared in livid horror as her eyes rolled back into her head and her knees buckled beneath her. Despite his state, he responded instantly and threw his arms out to catch her. He collapsed in an attempt to break her fall, but when he looked down at his hands they were shaking uncontrollably, holding nothing.

 _She’s not here,_ he thought as he lowered his head into his hands, _she’s not here._

0o0o0o0

The atmosphere felt different as he stomped through the hospital parking lot. It was a subtle but uncomfortable buzzing beneath his skin that told him something was definitely off. The smiles that crossed the nurses’ lips seemed brighter, not pitiful like he was used to getting. It made heat bubble in his chest, but he quickly tried to rationalize that hope away.

Aiza caught his gaze and offered a wave. He didn’t feel like trying to force the corners of his lips upward so he simply nodded. The glint in her dark eyes only fed the fire he was struggling to ignore.

“Cameron,” she squeezed his forearm, “so glad you are here!”

She was _happy_ \- a wonderful, beautiful kind of happy. That could only mean one thing, couldn’t it?

“Is…” he tried to breathe, “Is she…”

His heart beat wildly against his ribcage, like it was being set free after eight long days of being repressed. Relief and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He wanted to run- to _her_ \- but he had to hear it for himself, just in case this was all too good to be true.

Then Aiza smiled, and nothing else mattered.

Cameron took off down the hallway. His muscles were burning in agony, doctors were calling after him to stop or slow down, but none of that information even registered. The pulsing of his blood kept tempo with the chanting in his head.

_She’s awake. She’s awake. She’s awake!_

The world around him had been racing by in a blur of lights and sounds. The moment he stepped into room 3318, everything was crystal clear.  

Kirsten sat with her head against Linus’s shoulder, eyelids half closed. Her mouth was set in a lazy grin as she listened intently to whatever- probably exaggerated- story he was telling. Her hair had been pulled out of her face and her skin had returned to a healthy shady of pink. Cameron mentally declared that his new favorite color.

He knew Linus had abruptly ended his monologue and was now staring at him with wide, anxious eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, words dying in his throat as Kirsten’s gaze met his own. Green connected with copper, igniting a light inside him that had been out ever since he’d watched her slip out of consciousness.

Linus glanced nervously in between them, like an intruder who’d been caught red handed.

“Hey, Cam.” he tried, clearing his throat.

Neither of them dared to move. With a defeated huff, Linus heaved himself off of the bed and gave Kirsten’s uninjured shoulder a firm squeeze.

“I have to pick Camille up from class.” he said, “We’ll be back, later.”

“Okay,” her voice was heavy with fatigue.

He turned to Cameron, “Sorry I didn’t call, bro. We wanted to give you a chance to get some sleep.”

He didn’t.

“She’s kind of hopped up on pain killers right now,” Linus continued, grinning, “so do not play Two Truths and a Lie. It’ll get _way_ more intense than you bargained for.”

A soft, warm feeling stirred in the center of Cameron’s chest. He nodded and Linus gave him a brotherly clap on the shoulder before moving for the door.

“Hey, Linus!” Kirsten called, finally pulling her gaze away.

He swiveled on the balls of his feet and gave her a quizzical look. 

“Thank you.” the sincerity in her tone surprising all of them.

Linus’s smile became bashful and Cameron could even swear he saw a little blush.

When he left, it felt like Linus had taken all of the air in the room with him, leaving them choking on the silence. Kirsten was boring into him, clearly fighting to keep her eyes open. She was studying him- _searching_ him. His were also searching, searching for any sign that this wasn’t real. That he would wake up and be in the empty bed right beside her, praying to every god he didn’t believe in for her to be okay.

“Cameron,” she sighed with relief like she, too, was afraid this was all in their heads.

That was all it took to make him let go- let himself collapse under the weight of the emotions he’d been carrying for the past eight days. He fell onto the bed, burying his face in the crook of her neck, relishing in the fact that he could touch her. She was real. Kirsten let out a small sound of surprise before relaxing into his embrace. Her good arm snaked around his shoulders and her fingers curled into his hair.

“Cameron,” she breathed again.

He held her tighter, loving the way his name sounded on her lips.

“Hey, Stretch.” he murmured into her skin.

Something struck him like lightning. He wanted to tell her everything, right then and there. He wanted to leave his heart completely bare to her, whether or not she could do the same. He wanted her to know- to _believe_ that she was admired and cared for and thought of and _loved_.

Before the courage could find him, Kirsten pulled back, keeping herself in his arms

“I’m sorry,” she said, not meeting is eyes.

Cameron stared at her in disbelief, rubbing small circles into her back.

“Why do people always do that?” he thought aloud.

Kirsten popped her head up to give him a curious look.

“Do what?” she asked.

He smiled weakly, “Say they’re sorry when they did nothing wrong.”

She returned his smile, eyes glossy from the medication. She snuggled back into his chest, taking comfort in his familiar scent: cedar wood and pepper.

“I got myself shot,” her words were unarticulated, “and I know how you worry.”

That jolted him, making his muscles tense. He knew she wasn’t completely herself, but the casualty with which she said it made him ache.

“I was so scared.” he whispered.

Moisture stung in his eyes but he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried.

“I was right there.” the words came pouring out of him, “I watched you hit the pavement like you were already dead. I heard you scream. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, Kirsten. Its-“

He tried to catch his breath but it only exacerbated his sobbing fit. Kirsten was stroking the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m okay, Cam.” she cooed, “I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you, but’s it’s alright. Shhh- come on. It’s okay.”

_I’m so sorry, Krissy. It’s okay. We’re going to be okay._

The voice played over hers in her mind, but she pushed it aside. Cameron was still crying as they held each other.

“You’re my best friend, Kirsten.” he said as if neither of them knew, “I can’t lose you.”

That made her smile.

“You’re mine, Cam.” she promised, “I won’t leave you.”

She listened as the seconds ticked by, waited as his breathing became even. The thud of his heartbeat against her ear, the feeling of his arms around her, his breath tickling her scalp, it was working faster than any sedative.

“Hey, Cameron,” she said after several minutes, “I’m sorry but I’m really having trouble staying awake.”

He stiffened for a moment, fear gripping him like a sickness. Flashes of her eyes fluttering closed, body falling limp came uninvited to his mind. He told himself she was fine, she just needed rest, but she would wake up again.

“Alright, Princess.” he said, voice a little sad, “Sweet dreams.”  

He began unwrapped his arms from her when she gripped his shoulder and whipped her head up.

“You look like you could use some shut eye, too.” she stated, shifting so that there was space for him to lie down.

Cameron blinked at her, then moved his gaze between her and the other cot.

“There’s a bed right there.” he said.

He was being cautious, testing these unfamiliar waters. Kirsten’s expression dropped into an irritated scowl.

“Brilliant observation, Holmes.” she said, pulling back the blankets, “Now get over here.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Feedback is much appreciated. Hope you all get a good night sleep, tonight! See you next time ;P


	9. The Ugly Duckling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There are some no-no words ahead  
> Disclaimer: I own absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percently nothing about Stitchers.

The first thing that caught her eye was the color- pink, like blush. Last week they’d been blue. Next, she noticed the shape- small and round like Mn’Ms.

Camille leaned forward, palms pressed against the rim of the bathtub where she was sitting. The yellow light buzzed mechanically. She always thought it sounded a little sick, like a lot of the things in their house. Duckie was staring intently at his hands as he scraped a rusty file against one of the pink drops.

“Can I have one?” Camille asked, puffing out her cheeks.

The boy’s muscles visibly stiffened and his head snapped up to look at her. His eyes were wide and bright with things she hadn’t been able to identify at the time- surprise, irritation, _fear_.

“No!” he gawked, “Jesus, Cami. I’ve told you this isn’t fucking candy!”

Camille pulled her shoulders forward, an innate reaction like she was trying to sink back into her shell.

“I know,” she squeaked, embarrassed, “I was just asking.”

Her lower lip was trembling slightly as she gazed up at him with her innocent, button eyes. Duckie sighed and shook his head as he continued to fill the tablets and organize them in different plastic bags.

“Don’t ask, Cami.” he voice sounded heavy and worn out, “Don’t ask that shit.”

Camille bit the inside of her cheek. She hated it when she made him sad.

“Sorry.” she mumbled, eyes locking onto her feet.

Silence- save that sickly buzzing of the bathroom light- clung to them moments until Duckie raised his head slightly to look at his reflection in the mirror. Camille watched his eyes twitch, like he was searching himself for something. Then he turned away quickly, unable to stand what he saw.

“Hey, Cami,” his voice picked up, “how’re you doing on that magic car?”

She lit up, “It’s not magic, Duckie. It’s science. And I haven’t made much progress because I don’t know where I’m going to get auxiliary modulators. And you wouldn’t believe how much lithium-ion batteries cost!”

The fifteen year-old listened with his lips resting in a subtle smile. He didn’t know how to spell auxiliary. He was pretty sure lithium was an element, or something. He didn’t know how much these weird batteries cost, but he was certain that they couldn’t afford them. But he listened quietly as his sister of nine years rambled, because she didn’t need to hear that just yet.

0o0o0o0

Camille sat stiffly on the living room couch, discomfort apparent on her features. She hated this couch with all of her being. It was cheap and torn and there was an odd brown stain on the one arm. Yet here she sat, because her bedroom window had been shattered by a slab of concrete, allowing the brittle November air to force her downstairs.

Mom was asleep in the arm chair, a thick stream of dribble spilling onto her shirt. Camille may have only been fourteen, but she knew when a hangover looked like. Not to mention _smelled_ like.

As she scribbled away in her notebook, the front door flew open with an audible crack. Pop’s boots slammed against the floor, leaving tremors throughout the house. She didn’t even flinch.

“Bunch of God damn pricks!” he bellowed, “Sons of bitches. All of them!”

Her mother slurred something that didn’t pass as a sentence as Pop stormed into the kitchen- no doubt to join his girlfriend in her drunken stupor- and Duckie shut the door behind him. The slamming of cupboards echoed from out of sight. Duckie appeared about as interested as Camille did.

“Credit score?” Camille guessed without looking up.

“Nope. Heating bill.”

The brunette snorted, “What heat?”

Duckie rolled his dark eyes, “Cry me a fucking river. Here.”              

He took several envelops from off the top of the pile in his arms and tossed them into her lap. The cleanly printed seals burned in her vision as her fingers hesitantly grazed over the paper. Her veins felt like they were filled with light, the cold forgotten.

Before she could ripped them open, a thick, hairy hand snatched the pages away.

“University of Oregon?” Pop growled, carefully articulating each syllable. “Seattle School of Research Sciences? UCLA? Cam, what the hell is this?” 

The composure she’d held moments ago faded instantly under her father’s undivided attention. It was better when he just forgot she existed.

“They’re colleges, Pop.” she said meekly.

Everyone seemed to move at once, like they’d all been paused mid-sentence and someone had finally pressed play. Pop brought his arm up- no grace, no dignity, but _power_. Camille jumped backward and covered her head as Duckie leaped in between them.

“Fucking smart ass!” their father boomed at the same time Duckie screamed, “Don’t fucking touch her!”

It was eerie how perfectly their voices fit together. Camille gulped, heart beating painfully in her throat.

“Shut up, Dick.” Pop sneered, then his eyes locked over Duckie’s shoulder with Camille’s, “Answer me!”

She blinked and tried to find a way to speak, “There are these programs they offer in the spring. I was thinking about-“

“The hell you need college for? You’re fifteen.”

Camille didn’t respond. She was going to vomit if she opened her mouth again. He waited another moment and when she remain silent he grunted a curse and continued his rampage somewhere else. When he was gone, Duckie turned to her, his body slacking out of the protective stance he’d taken before.

“I’m fourteen.” Camille whispered.

Her brother sighed and tucked her into his arms. He held her head in his hand and stroked her dark hair. She was trembling.

_The hell you need college for?_

_“_ Because, Duckie,” she whimpered as the tears began to fall, “I want to have a couch that isn’t stained. I want to live where no one throws rocks through my window.”

“And you’ll have all that, Cami.” he rocked her gently, “You’re going to get out of this damn place. You’re going to make it.”

He said it like he’d given up hope on himself and she knew it was because he had. A loud, grotesque snore emanated from their mother’s mouth and Camille collapsed into sobs.

0o0o0o0

“Where is he?” her voice sounded raw as it ripped through her throat, “Where’s my brother?”

She commanded the eyes in the room. They felt like magnifying glasses focusing the sun on her skin, singing her skin.

“Please,” she practically fell against the counter.

“Honey, calm down.” a nurse came out from behind the desk and took her shoulders firmly in his hands, “Who are you looking for?”

“My brother,” the words escaped her lips faster than she could think, “Robert Johnson.”

_I call him Duckie. He’d kill anyone else who’d call him that. He lets me._

Guilt painted a clear picture across the nurse’s face. Camille’s knees almost buckled.

“He was shot three times in the abdomen, Sweetie.” he speaks very slowly and very, _very_ carefully.

It wasn’t supposed to end that way. It was a simple deal. He’d made hundreds before. He’d come home with things scraped and bruised and sometimes broken- “unsatisfied customers” he’d said- but nothing like this.

“He’s okay.” she demanded, “He’s going to make it.”

The look on the nurse’s face told her everything, but she couldn’t believe it.

“Let’s sit down, okay?”

She shook her head violently. The nurse sighed.

“Sweetie, there was a lot of internal bleeding.” every word was a blow to her stomach, “We tried to stop it. He passed away on the operating table about twenty minutes ago.”

Camille heard him clearly and understood what that meant, but there was a disconnect somewhere in her mind. Reality was fighting against the unbreakable force that was her brother’s memory. Duckie wasn’t gone. What did she have without him?

The nurse’s lips were moving. He was probably saying something. Nothing registered. Black crept into her vison. Her heart felt like it had quite on her completely.

_Maybe I’m dying._

And she prayed that she was right.

0o0o0o0

She felt like an angle- sure and peaceful- floating over the chaos around her. She moved effortlessly through the house, collecting things here and there and placing them in her duffle bag. Sounds reverberated off the thin walls a swirled in her ears like she was underwater.

“Ungrateful…” Ma said, “no good… wasted… my baby… your fault…”

“Fucking insubordinate…” Pop yelled, butchering the pronunciation, “piece of shit… worthless… pathetic…”

They didn’t concern her. Her mind was made up and she felt free. Her stone gaze remained locked on the battered wood of the door.

“You walk out that fucking door, you don’t ever fucking come back. You hear?”

She didn’t look back once.

0o0o0o0

“Cami? You in there? _Hello_ , Earth to Cami.”

Camille’s eyes strained to focus on the pair of snapping fingers in front of her face. When the nasally voice perforated her eardrums and her mind recognized its owner, her stomach lurched.

“What do you want, Patrick?” she wheezed.

The strawberry-blonde unfolded himself from his crouched position so that he now towered over the brunette.

“Alright, Snappy,” he smiled down at her, “just wanted to say I enjoyed you presentation today.”

Camille scoffed. She had just failed her presentation. She knew she did. Public speaking had always come fairly easy to her, but exhaustion had her nerves on overdrive. Her shoulders were tense, her sentences clipped, and the heat in her stare was making her professor squirm. She didn’t care- oh how she simply _did not_ care.

Her classmates had not even finished their halfhearted applause before she’d grabbed her bag and pushed out the double doors. The onset of a migraine throbbed behind her eyes, pulsing with every clack of her heels. Echoes panged off the walls of the vacant hallway.

That was the dangerous part. It wasn’t healthy for her to be alone right now. There was too much room in the silence for her mind to wander, back to memories she didn’t want revived.

Looking at Patrick, she thought, _I guess that makes you my hero_.

 The irony alone threatened a smile on her pursed lips.

After storming out of the lecture hall, Camille had taken some turns until the stark concrete gave way to a corridor of floor length windows that overlooked a cobblestone courtyard. The sky was churning with grey like it was going to rain. Camille could have sneered at the cliché.

She’d pulled her fitted leather jacket tighter around her chest and wedged herself in the corner of glass, sinking into a ball.

“Yo, Cami,” Patrick really did have the most irritating voice, “this ain’t NASA. Quit spacing out.”

She blinked up at him, appearing bored, and pressed her temple against the cool glass. It provided some relief for her headache. She wished her jacket had a hood so that she could pull it all the way over her face and hide beneath it.

“My name has seven letters, Patrick.” she grumbled, heaving herself off of the floor, “I’d prefer you to use all of them.”

“Hey come on,” his smile wavered as she started walking away, “Woah, okay. Stop.”

He stepped in front of her and she halted, every muscle in her body growling at the interruption.

“Pat,” she warned.

“Seven letters,” he smirked, un-phased by her glare, “Easy, Tiger.”

His look morphed into something she was used to seeing on his features- sincerity.

“You’ve been pretty bummed the past couple of days. Everything alright?”

Her first reaction was to role her eyes, but she stopped herself. For a few moments, they simply stared at each other in silence. Silence- silence was dangerous. Her mind went to places she didn’t want it to go. Camille became hyperaware of every function in her body- heart pounding, palms tingling, lungs burning.

“No.” she said bluntly, _needing_ the quiet to end.

Something was threatening to break through the surface and she couldn’t let that happen.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her pulse was rising. One more second and she would crumble. She couldn’t.

“No.” she hissed, grabbing the color of his shirt.

His blue eyes were wide- and more than a little fearful- as she crashed her lips onto his. She was kissing him hard enough to bruise.

After a beat he pushed away, breathing labored.

“W-hat was-“

“Shut up,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the closest door.

She didn’t want to talk, but she didn’t want to stay quiet. She didn’t want to remember the past or worry about her friend’s future.

Lab 238 was empty and- thank Jesus- locked from the inside.

“Camille,” his voice wobbled, fear and arousal battling within him.

“Patrick, please,” she whined, tossing her shoulder bag onto the floor, “just shut up.”

0o0o0o0

“Wow,” Patrick breathed, lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Camille didn’t pay him any attention. She’d grabbed her undergarments and put them back on, now pacing the length of the front wall. The blinds had been drawn, only allowing miniscule rays of sunlight to peak through.

“You don’t look it, Tiger,” he continued, “but _damn_.”

The brunette ceased her pacing and pressed her fist to her lips, knowing that something divine up there was judging her _so_ hard.

Glancing at the clock, Camille noticed that it was about twenty minutes after she’d told Linus to pick her up. He probably hadn’t expected her to finish her speech that earlier- or maybe he knew she’d botch it.

Padding over to where her messenger bag had been discarded, Camille knelt down and unzipped one of the smaller pouches. She clicked on her home screen. Four unread messages.

7:15PM MUURKH

BE THERE IN TEN

7:27PM MUURKH

IN USUAL SPOT

7:33PM MUURKH

WHERE ARE YOU?

7:38PM MUURKH

KIRSTEN IS AWAKE. GET YOUR 10% OUT HERE!

Camille nearly dropped the phone. She reread the last message a few hundred times before the meaning of the words began to settle in.

_Awake. Kirsten was awake. Kirsten was okay!_

Something snapped inside of her, like she was a glow stick, and Camille launched herself into motion. She was frantic, darting around the room for her clothes. Patrick noticed the change and tried to sit up. He winced, contorting to catch a glimpse of himself in the reflective surface on the lab’s wash tub.

“I,” he started, “I’m bleeding.”

Camille, now fully dressed, glanced up at him as she shoved her shoes onto her feet. There were in fact dee red scratches running up and down the length of his entire back. Kinky.

“Yep,” shrugged her bag on and unlocked the door, “and I hope you got you tetanus shot because this floor is disgusting.”

The hallway fell away in her vision like she was jumping through hyperspace. She was moving so quickly, it felt like her feet weren’t even grazing the ground.

Their usual spot was off of the main parking lot, underneath the light post that some kid had graffitied a rendition of Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ onto. 

She made eye contact with Linus long before she reached the car. He was sitting on the hood, arms crossed over his chest. His chocolate eyes were narrowed, obviously displeased with her. It was silly and naïve, but in that moment, she’d never loved him more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to add. Thank you so much for reading. I really can’t express how much I appreciate all the support you’ve given me and I really hope I live up to it. Y’all the best 


	10. The Past and The Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Stitchers and I have nothing against McDonald’s or their breakfast foods. In fact I’m quite the junky. Shhhhhhhhhh

Kirsten woke up feeling oddly disappointed. Her sleep had been dreamless, just a seam of black between periods of consciousness. The last thing she remembered before she’d dozed off was Cameron asking her the twelfth time if he was hurting her. The thought was almost laughable considering how delicately he was cradling her.

“My sling doesn’t have a bomb in it.” she muttered, “You don’t have to be so careful.”

She felt his entire body tense and his hold around her tightened.

“Glad to see you’ve grown more cautious from your near death experience.” he said with a serious edge to his voice.

The weight of his tone surprised her. She wanted to apologize but couldn’t form the words and simply nuzzled deeper into his chest. Cameron sighed and rubbed her side. It felt like his silent forgiveness.

Now, as she blinked to adjust to the harsh light of the hospital room, she could see that he was still holding her with the same tenderness.

“My hero,” she slurred, still groggy from the pain medicine.

For the next few minutes-though it might as well have been decades- Kirsten was content to focus on nothing but Cameron. She mentally cataloged the way his heat radiated deep into her skin, the way his eyelids fluttered as he slept, the way his heart beat against her ear. It was telling her a message.

_Bah-bum. Bah-bum. Bah-bum. I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe._

Slowly, Kirsten moved her head and planted a small kiss in the center of his chest. She had never been considered a very imaginative person, but right then she tried to fathom a world without him in it. It was duller, greyer, and made her shudder.

“I can’t lose you,” she echoed their words from early, confused by the tremor in her voice.

Why was fear suddenly so heavy in her veins? Why was she suddenly terrified to take her eyes away from the sleeping man’s face? It was illogical, it was insane, and yet she didn’t fight the feeling as it coursed through her like a tidal wave.

Shifting gingerly in his arms, trying her very best not to wake him, Kirsten leaned in so that her face was merely inches away from Cameron’s. Her judgement was still hazy from the stupor she found herself under.

Feeling herself break some kind of threshold, Kirsten closed the empty space between them and planted her lips firmly on his. They were chapped and limp beneath hers, but inhaling she caught a whiff of his signature scent and relished in it.

As sense returned to her head, she began pulling away, but froze when she felt pressure against her lips. He was kissing her back. The rational thought that was creeping its way back into her mind disappeared, again. She thought she was seeing stars.

Her conscience was rebelling against every action she made. It ordered her to still her hand as it curled into the fabric of his shirt, demanded that she jerk away when he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

Eventually, rationality won the battle and she pulled away from him- slowly. His eyes were shut, a dopey, helpless grin on his face. When he opened his eyes, the green was glossy like a marble. They were focusing and un-focusing, like he was just waking up. He _was_ just waking up.

Kirsten held her breath as his gaze became more concrete and comprehension dawned on his features. All she could do was stare.

He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, closed it, licked his lips, and then silently opened them again. He looked like a fish in the headlights. Kirsten bit the inside of her cheek.

“Sorry,” she offered.

Cameron’s eyebrows perked up. His brain was like the quantum computer, calculating hundreds of different courses of action at once. The most favorable scenario worked out like this: Cameron would play it smooth, cool, run a hand nonchalantly through his hair.

He’d flash her a charming smile and say, “Why do people always do that?”

She’d blink at him with those curios copper eyes and ask what he meant.

He’d remember back to their earlier conversation and say, “Apologize when they have nothing to be sorry for.”

Then he’d slip a hand under her jaw and pull her to him, returning the kiss with all the emotion he’d been holding back since he met her.

But he was a man of science, and knew that scenario was far too close to magic to be true. So he settled on the most innate response, to shut down and not say anything.

Kirsten realized she was still clutching his shirt and released the fabric, dropping her hand into her lap. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for _anything_ else to look at. To her relief she spotted her old leather backpack in the corner by the door.

“That’s my back pack.” she said intelligently.

It was enough to get Cameron’s eyes off of her. He craned his neck around, readily accepting the distraction

“Oh yeah. I brought presents.”

Kirsten’s ears wiggled, ever so slightly. Cameron scooted off of the tiny bed and grabbed the bag off of the floor. He placed it at her feet and began taking things out.

“Some clothes- Camille approved, of course- when you’re ready to ditch this whole Grey’s Anatomy look.”

Kirsten eyed them up and down. It was her usual jeans, loose tank top, and cardigan.

“Walkman,” Cameron regained her attention, placing the device on the bed, along with all of its accompanying cassettes.

“Another trick to try and wake you up.” he explained when her brows furrowed.

Kirsten nodded, the fact that she’d been unconscious for eight days biting uncomfortably under her skin.

Cameron grimaced at the next object, gripping it until his fist trembled. The blonde leaned forward, eager. When he didn’t say anything, she extended her hand and he placed the trinket in her palm.

“To protect your heart.” he spoke softly.

Kirsten turned the stone over in her hand, running her fingers over the smooth quartz. The image of Cameron in the corpse cassette came unwelcomely into her mind.

“Guess it worked.” she said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “oh, and I saved the best for last.”

Kirsten stare was much more livid than she felt as she watched him pull the encyclopedia out of her bag. She was confident that no one on Fisher’s team had seen her slip it under the bed, but she couldn’t be sure they hadn’t gone back and found it later.

Cameron moved around the bedframe and retook his seat beside her, their shoulders touching.

“Did you find anything?” she took the book from him, flipping through the pages.

After what she was sure must have been at least a few moments of silence, she looked back into his reserved eyes.

“No,” he admitted, looking away, “I searched every page, I swear! There’s just-“

 _Nothing_.

The word wrapped around her chest like a chain.

“There must be something you missed.” Kirsten swallowed.

She hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like an accusation. Cameron kept his gaze on the floor. Kirsten wanted to apologize, again, and touch his shoulder. She wanted to kiss him again.

Sighing, she passed the book back to him and threw her legs out over the bed. His muscles visibly contracted with concern, but as soon as she proved she was walking steadily on her own, he relaxed. She picked the clothes up off the foot of the bed and passed into the other half of the room where the second bed was. The two could be separated by a thin curtain, which she pulled out to form a suitable half wall.

“Did you look under a black light?” she asked, very slowly removing her sling.

It just occurred to her how sore her shoulder really was.

“Yes. I looked for invisible ink, missing pages, hidden compartments, the whole kitten-caboodle.”

Kirsten scrunched her nose, “What a weird saying.”

 “Anyway,” Cameron said, flatly, “there was nothing.”

After processing for a second- and trying to slip into skinny jeans with one hand- Kirsten asked, “Did you scan it?”

There was a pause.

“With?” he inquired.

“The ultraviolet magnetic counterfeit scanner Fisher uses.” she said like it was obvious.

Another pause, and then, “God damn it!”

Kirsten smirked, pulling back the curtain to see Cameron pressing his head into the pillow, hands over his face.

“What would you do without me?” she teased, sitting back in bed.

She held the book again and stared, like if she looked hard and long enough, it would come alive and tell her the secret itself. Replaying her most recent memories before the shooting in her mind, something odd occurred to Kirsten.

“Hey, Cam?” she said.

“Yeah,” his voice was muffled under his hands.

“How did you get this out of the apartment?”

“I climbed back up the fire escape and broke in,” he said without hesitating, “just like you said.”

It felt like Kirsten’s brain had short circuited. In truth, she hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it, but she never would have believed that Cameron would do it- unless he thought he needed to protect her, of course. She gaped at him.

“Really?”

Cameron peaked an eye out from in between his fingers, “Nope. The key was in your pocket.”

Kirsten computed this. That she could understand, but she also knew something else.

“You would have.” she said.

He sat up, “What?”

_You would have climbed eight floors up a rusty old fire escape. You would have broken into an active crime scene. You would have gone against Fisher, against Maggie. You have. You’ve done it for me. Because you love me._

Realization warmed her skin like the sun. She felt feverish. Cameron’s eyebrows knitted with confusion.

Before she could make an excuse, the door opened with a click. Camille and Linus waltzed into the bleach white room, identical smiles plastered on their faces. Linus carried two joyfully colored paper bags and Camille held a tray of large lidded cups.

“Wakey wakey, chickadees.” she beamed.

Cameron and Kirsten instantly scooted a few centimeters apart.

He cleared his throat, “What’s all-“

“You guys were asleep when we got here,” Linus cut him off, pulling the second bed closer to the one they were in and taking a seat.

“You’re like the cutest sleepers _ever_. We didn’t want to wake you.” Camille said, “So we went out and got breakfast.”

Kirsten narrowed her eyes, “It’s almost eight o’clock at night. How did you get McDonald’s to serve you breakfast?”

Camille plopped down next to Linus, “Tell them that your sister just woke up from an eight year long coma and they’ll start giving you all kinds of stuff.”

Kirsten’s glared intensified, but the brunette ignored her.

“Coffee, two creams, one sugar for Linus.” she said distributing the drinks, “Mocha latte for me. Green tea for Cameron and last but not least…”

She held the cup up like it was a trophy.

“One grande black coffee for the lady of the hour.”

Kirsten had been ignoring the hunger in her stomach for a while, but the tantalizing smell of the coffee brought it back to the forefront. She eagerly took the cup from Camille’s hands and took a long swig. Linus began passing out breakfast sandwiches. Cameron eyed his with contempt.

“Do you know what they put into these things?” he pointed at the bagel like it was some lab created mutant, “That’s not even real meat, and the eggs are-“

“You know what, Mr. Man?” Camille gestured to the tray a nurse had brought in earlier, sitting on the chair behind them, “There’s a Jell-O cup right there if you want it.”  

Kirsten chuckled as his face dropped into a pout. He ate his food silently. They all did, probably realizing for the first time how little any of them had eaten in the past week.

After a few minutes, Linus spoke up.

“So, Kirsten,” he began hesitantly, “has anyone talked to you about… you know, what happened?”

She blinked at him. Then her eyes widened and she pressed her palm into her temple.

“God d- I didn’t even think to ask!” she mentally chastised herself for the lack of prioritizing, “What happened? Did Fisher find anything?”

The three group members shared cautious looks.

“Maggie was targeted, too.” Cameron said, “Do you remember that?”

Kirsten looked away from him, ashamed, and shook her head.

“She’s fine.” Camille said, “Boss lady was wearing a fricking bullet proof vest. Apparently she does that.”

Linus chimed in, “Like all the time! Maggie was shot first, which lead Fisher to believe that she was the primary target.”

“You moved into the line of fire reaching for her.” Cameron said through locked teeth, “We saw it on the surveillance footage.”

They took a moment to let Kirsten process all of this.

“So,” she sipped her coffee, “Fisher doesn’t think I was the intended target?”

“It’s not for certain,” Linus said, “but he told us that’s what he’d put his money on.”

She nodded, trusting Fisher’s instinct.

“Okay, so did they find anything out about the shooter?”

“Had a sniper set up on the tenth floor.” Camille looked displeased, “No trace.”

Kirsten thought or a minute, then paled.

“What’s wrong,” Cameron’s hand laced protectively around her elbow.

She met his eyes, hers were wide and wild.

“The tenth floor, Cameron.”

“Okay, so?”

“The tenth floor, Cameron!” she urged, “That’s the floor the woman in the elevator selected.”

At first Cameron shook his head.

Camille sucked in a breath, “Kirsten, just because that one woman was going to the tenth floor doesn’t auto-“

“Yes, actually.” Cameron looked as white as the plastered walls, “It does.”

Camille and Linus looked at him, then at each other.”

“The nurse who just started working here, the one with the grey eyes.” he stammered, “I knew they looked familiar.”

He looked at Kirsten, “She’s the one. She’s the shooter from the tenth floor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all your lovely support. Have an awesome day :D


	11. Someone To Carry Me Home

The atmosphere was heavy outside of the hospital, like the weight of the entire universe was pressing down on the sky. Rain came down in thick sheets. It made Emily’s clothes sag against her skin, but she didn’t mind. It felt almost like an embrace, be it from a cold, slimy creature. Who was she to be picky about her company?

Her hood was drooping in front of her eyes, but her vantage point still allowed her a clear line of sight to the hospital’s main entrance. An entourage mingled about beneath the front awning, protected from the onslaught of water but not the frigid air.

Cameron Goodkin, with his sparkling eyes and messy hair that was probably soft to the touch, was shrugging off his denim jacket. _She_ was attempting to squirm out of his reach every time he tried to drape it over her shoulders. It was to no avail. Her injury and the days she’d spent in a coma had left her weak and her movements sluggish.

Upon his third advancement, the blonde flinched away from him only to double over, right hand clutching her shoulder. Even from thirty feet away, Emily could see the concern ripple across the doctor’s features. People turned to look at them, some even moved forward as if to help, but no one did.

Raising herself slowly, Kirsten let go of her shoulder. Her humility was apparent, but she carried her head high, face stoic as stone. This time, she didn’t dodge as Cameron tucked the jacket around her, pulling the fabric over her collar bone. Emily noted the way his fingers lingered there just a little longer than friendly.

They held each other’s gaze- volumes being spoken between those eyes- before a petit brunette woman strode out of the hospital lobby. They jolted apart. The woman was explaining something with her hands, a confident tilt to her hips that Emily didn’t like. A man with hazelnut skin and dark hair joined them a few moments later.

It was an interesting bunch. Her past few months of observation could even be considered entertaining. On more occasions than she’d expected, Emily was sure that all of her planning- all of Marta’s planning- would amount to nothing. Kirsten was going to get herself killed at the rate she was running into stupid situations.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

Cameron adjusted a backpack over his shoulder, nodding at his accomplices as they parted ways. Something hot spurred in the pit of Emily’s stomach as she watched his hand find Kirsten’s. The burning only increased when the blonde intertwined their fingers, leaning into his arm. She wasn’t envious that they had each other. She envied that they had anyone. She was tired of being alone.

So, so _alone_.

She was too far away and the rain was too loud for her to hear what they were saying. She could tell by the proximity of their faces and their apprehensive posture that they were whispering. What she’d give to be between them, hearing those hushed secrets and timid confessions. She could only imagine a connection like that.

Cameron’s hand released hers and wove itself around her waist, securing her beside him. Together, they left the safety of the awning and trekked out into the down pour. Discomfort pulled Kirsten’s shoulders into a hunch and Cameron’s grip tightened.

How wonderfully hopeless they were, how perfectly depressing.

“The stone maiden shall crumble in the puppet master’s hands.” she murmured.

Not wanting to lose them, Emily pulled the brake off of her wheelchair and followed close behind.

0o0o0o0

Kirsten practically collapsed into the passenger seat. The walk from her hospital room, followed by the walk to the parking lot, had been surprisingly fatiguing. By surprising, she meant tragically expected. _Everything_ made her tired.

Her eyelids had barely been able to stay open as Maggie and Fisher both bombarded her with questions and predictions involving their tenth floor shooter. Once she and Cameron had successfully identified the woman- who was now being referred to as Black Berry- everything around her kicked into overdrive. Policemen, staff from the agency, nurses and doctors buzzed in and out of the room, everyone trying to do their job- protect Kirsten.

As soon as they’d learned that she’d been followed, Cameron made a point that he was not leaving her side until they could ensure her safety. If anything about their situation had been normal, she would have chewed him out for being a helicopter mom. But then, she had just been so grateful for the shoulder to rest her head on.

The slamming of the driver’s side door snapped Kirsten back into the present. Rain pounded against the top of the convertible roof, filling the car with its syncopation. Cameron started the car and pulled out of the parking space. His movements were jilted, like he was suppressing something. Kirsten knew from the way his jaw was set that he was angry. Was it at her? Maggie? The woman with the grey eyes?

“I said I was sorry.” she whined, eyes drooping closed, slumping deeper into her seat.

She couldn’t see if he’d relaxed at all, but his tone was easier than she’d thought it would be.

“I know, Stretch.” he replied, slightly amused, “I’m not mad at you.”

“Yes you are.”

“What am I mad at you for?”

She yawned, “I got shot. I get shot a lot.”

“No, Kirsten, you do not get shot a lot.”

“I could.”

He didn’t speak right away, allowing the rhythm of the rain to creep in between them. She nearly considered opening her heavy eyes when he responded.

“I know, Stretch.”

There was weight to his words, like they’d had to climb out of his chest in chains. She wanted to pull her arm out of this annoying sling, wrap them both around his torso, and murmur apologies into his neck. She didn’t, though. She merely fantasized the idea until her brain slipped into darkness, followed only by the sound of the rain and the hum of the engine.

0o0o0o0

Guilt tugged at Cameron’s chest. Kirsten was _not_ in a healthy state right now and giving her terse, begrudged answers wasn’t fair. She wasn’t able to snap right back at him like usual. He also felt more than a little bad for finding the groggy slur in her voice to be so adorable. When several traffic lights went by and she hadn’t replied, he turned to make sure he hadn’t upset her.

She was asleep, curled into his denim jacket that was far too big for her. Her head drooped to one side, damp blonde hair spilling in front of her face. The corners of his lips perked upward ever so slightly- seeing her like this, the reaction was almost involuntary- but the smile soon vanished as other thoughts entered his mind.

She looked so small, so fragile, so un-Kirsten. To add insult to injury, someone was to blame for this. Someone had done this to her. _His_ Kirsten. It made his nerves spark.

Fisher had spilled every single drop of information that he could. The hospital staff claimed that none of them had been a part of the review board when the application of “Monica Avery” was accepted. The University of Oregon had no record of her like she’d claimed, same with her listed address, and the name didn’t reveal anything useful from the public records.

“A fake name,” he hissed, “fake files, fake everything.”

A simple alias, so obvious it was like she was mocking them. He wanted to scream.

“When did everything get so…” the anger was rising in his chest, ready to erupt.

He glanced over at Kirsten again, thinking back to the way she’d looked after their first stitch- calm and relaxed beneath his covers. He’d stared at her face for hours before letting himself fall asleep. Grant it, a large part of his brain had been telling him that watching a woman he’d just met sleep reached new volumes of creepy. He couldn’t help it. She was _intoxicating_ to watch.

He’d scrutinized the flushed tones of her skin, counted the seconds in between her heartbeats, and found his own breathing in sync with hers. Every few minutes, the corner of her lip would pucker as she sucked on her inner cheek. It was the most precious thing he’d ever seen, and he was not a man to use the word lightly.

The heat in his ribs began to dissipate. He wanted that to be the last thing he saw every night, wake up to it every morning.

“So messed up?” he breathed.

Letting the fantasy slip away, Cameron tried to refocus himself. Beneath all of the doomsday scenarios, beneath all the contingency plans to keep Kirsten safe, there was one shining thought that gave him hope.

The book.

A much as the unknown terrified him, that clue had been left to her by Ed. A man who- Cameron was convinced- was the only other person who had wanted to protect Kirsten as badly as he did. Maybe this wild goose chase could actually turn up some answers.

“Or get you killed in the process.” he admitted.

Kirsten stirred in her seat, muttering something he didn’t understand and curling herself into a tighter ball.

Cameron shook his head and whispered, “Sorry, Beautiful.”

He needed to stop thinking like this, at least until she was herself again.

“You’re my lifeline, Stretch.” he said, chancing on the fact that she couldn’t hear him, “I won’t go down that road unless I know you’re there to bring me back.”

His mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed. Light from downtown L.A bled into the car. He winced when it passed over his skin, as if it could pull the anxiety right out of his body.

Forcing his mind to not wander from the road, Cameron completed the drive in silence. He pulled into the parking garage less than a block away from his apartment building. Water beat against the sides of the concrete and filled the entire space with noise.

Cameron grabbed the backpack and threw it over his shoulder. Then, keeping his movements slight, he shifted around to the passenger side door and carefully pulled it open. Kirsten slumped forward, slightly, but her eyes didn’t open.

Ice spread through Cameron’s lungs and the scene before him changed so quickly he questioned his sanity.

Kirsten. Bleeding. Soaking blonde hair clinging to her translucent skin. Her eyes rolling back into her head. Her body crumbling into his arms before vanishing all together.

Cameron shuddered. He undid the seat belt with some skill and slipped one arm behind her back. The contact acted as confirmation that this was real, she was _really_ here and she was going to be okay. He exhaled in relief. Carefully, he slid his other arm under her knees.

With extreme awareness of her injuries, Cameron timidly hoisted her out of the passenger seat and managed to kick the door shut. The loud slam made her flinch, but still her eyes remained closed, her breathing easy.

He struggled for a moment, the eight days of lack luster sleep making his muscles whine. That was until he felt her hand unconsciously traced its way up his spine and hooked onto his shoulder. She rubbed her head deeper against his chest, mumbling something incoherent. Her tone was distant and dreamy.

The moisture clinging to her hair was cool against his burning skin. Every inch of every muscle stiffened. His heart lapsed. The patter of the rain fell away. All he could hear was the pounding in his ears and the meditative rhythm of her breathing. Cameron pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

Not for the first time since he’d met Kirsten Clark, part of him wished that he’d been born with temporal dysplasia. He wanted his mind to catalog every detail of this moment, be able to remember it with perfect clarity.

But he didn’t have temporal dysplasia and this wasn’t some romantic fantasy. This was reality. In reality, he’d been standing there way too long, holding the girl of his dreams who was unconscious and frail after being shot by mysterious bad guys who wanted their mysterious boss dead for mysterious reasons.

His heart rate mellowed as this perspective settled in. With a huff, ensuring that Kirsten was stable in his embrace, he started toward the garage’s exit. The rain had lessened to a merciful drizzle, but he still moved as quickly as discretion would allow. Kirsten made something close to a squeak in objection as the water hit her cheeks. Sympathy swelled in Cameron’s chest.

“Hang in there, Princess.” he said, annoyed at the desperation in his voice.

With a decent amount of effort, he managed to pull the main door to the apartment lobby open without jostling his cargo too much. Once inside, Kirsten’s body seemed to soften a little more. She sighed in relief, breath hot against Cameron’s neck. He had to swallow the fluttery feeling that was rising out of his chest.

As he folded them into the elevator, Cameron’s thoughts were drawn back to the hospital. Once they’d made the connection between the shooter and the nurse, the entire building had gone into crisis mode. Special operatives had filled the sterile hallways, all searching for a woman that fit the pair’s description. Kirsten was to never be left by herself, always surrounded by a trusted member of the team. At first, she’d taken a stance to argue, but when Cameron instantly volunteered- or more so declared- she said nothing.

She’d stay with him until the L.A.P.D either apprehended the maniac or made some serious progress in the case. That had never been strictly said, but Cameron was just operating under the assumption for the time being. In truth, he simply couldn’t imagine letting her out of his sight, now.

Fisher’s initial theory that Kirsten wasn’t the primary target went out the window, which filled Cameron’s mouth with a bitter taste. Who was this woman? Did she have allies? What did they want? _Why_ did they want it?

What would be their next move?


	12. What We Deserve Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful humans! This chapter getting split into two parts because it was getting flipping huge.  
> You guys are the best readers a girl could hope for, so THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE KINDNESS AND SUPPORT YOU’VE SHOWN ME!

The elevator chimed and deposited them on the seventh floor. Cam attempted to shake the worries out of his head, but that was pointless. He padded out of the lift, and to his dismay, found that he couldn’t reach his keys without letting go of Kirsten. With a disgruntled sigh, he crouched and dipped his one arm as low as he could. Her feet recoiled when they first made contact with the floor but she relaxed as he helped her into a standing position.

“We’re here, Kirsten.” he rubbed her forearm, “I need you to stand on your own for a second.”

Her pupils contracted ever so slightly, the only form of a glare she could muster. Cameron couldn’t hold back his smile.

_Classic Death Stare._

Digging through his pockets for his house keys, he kept one arm hovering at Kirsten’s side, ready to catch her if need be.

The door swung open, the grey sky providing little light inside of the apartment. He blinked in surprise. Everything was the way he’d left it, but the space felt foreign to him. For over a week, he hadn’t left the blanched hospital room. For days his eyes hadn’t left Kirsten’s face, her rising and falling chest, her health monitors. His thoughts were so devoted to her that if you’d asked him what color his bedroom walls were, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. Coming home felt like the first time he’d set his feet on solid ground in decades.

Kirsten furrowed her brows as she counted the seconds and he didn’t move. Her pulse tremored as she extended her hand, palms beginning to tingle- her body’s natural response to the thought of touching him. She placed her hand on the curve of his elbow.

“Cam?” her voice was frayed.

His attention immediately returned to her and she swallowed. His eyes were swimming with so many emotions it nearly made her gasp- so many she couldn’t identify, couldn’t understand. Her fingers traced down his forearm and wrapped loosely around his wrist.

“What’s wrong?” her voice strained, pushing up through the layers of drowsiness.

“Nothing.” he said automatically.

Before she could interrogate him, his fingers were between hers and he was pulling her into the loft. The moment they entered the apartment, Kirsten felt a tightness- the pleasant kind one experiences during a hug. Everything about this place was familiar. She trusted familiar. Familiar was _safe_.

He led her into the bedroom and Kirsten all but collapsed onto the mattress. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she inhaled the crisp, clean scent of his sheets.

“Thank God.” she grumbled into the bed, “That hospital cot was about as comfortable as sheet rock.”

She could almost hear the smirk in Cameron’s voice, “I take it the medicine is working, then?”

Kirsten concentrated for a moment, trying to pinpoint where the pain was. The left side of her chest to the end of her elbow felt like it had been fed through a taffy puller. Each and every nerve spit angry complaints to her brain, which was pulsing behind her eyes with nauseating force.  

“Yep.” she said, tightly, “We’re all good.”

His green eyes narrowed, clearly not convinced. Then a look of sympathy subdued his features. He brushed some hair out of her face.

“Liar,” he said, barely loud enough for her to hear.

His fingertips lingered on her forehead before he curled them into a fist and retracted his hand. Stiffly, he paced over to his dresser on the far wall and began emptying the backpack he’d been carrying.

“You’re supposed to take one of these every six hours.” he said examining the container of blue capsules, “I’ll set a reminder on my phone. Here’s some extra dressing, but we’re only supposed to use it if you start bleeding again at which point-“

“ _Cameron_ ,” her groan was muffled by the bedding, “you asked the doctor to go over this _three times_. You don’t need to remind me. Now stop acting like my nursemaid and come to bed.”

She shimmied up to the head of the mattress, using all the strength she had to keep from wincing at the pain. Taking a deep breath, she extended her hand out toward him. The creases around his eyes softened but that didn’t stop him from fixing her with a stern glare. She met his challenge with a defiant smirk and a cocked eyebrow. It was a little easier to forget the pain when he was her distraction.

Cameron glanced around the room quickly, as if a retort lie hidden somewhere inside, then sighed and took her hand. With her last ounce of energy, Kirsten pulled him down beside her. She tucked his head into the crook of her neck, his hair tickling her cheek. He wrapped his arms around her midsection and closed the remaining space between them. His brain was telling him that this wasn’t the time for relaxing. His mind was telling him that Kirsten was still in danger- that he had to do something. He had to protect her.

But lying there in her embrace made him never want to move again.

“Short nap.” he murmured, eyelids already beginning to droop, “Very short.”

“Whatever you say, Girlfriend.”

0o0o0o0

“Hey Mommy watch this!” young Kirsten squealed before dipping into a graceful cartwheel.

She struck a pose as she stuck the landing, locks blonde hair escaping her loose ponytail. Under the shade of a burly sycamore tree sat her audience.

“Brava, ma chére!” the woman cheered, placing her book back into their picnic basket, “You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

“Only every day!” Kirsten plopped down beside her mother on the quilt they’d set up.

Shreds of sunlight cut through the shade, making her mother’s blonde hair shimmer like polished jewelry. Kirsten looked into her eyes, wondering what hue they would take in the sun. She couldn’t make it out. Her face was hazy and the longer she stared, the more unclear it became.

 _I wish I could remember her_.

Kirsten sat up, glancing quickly around the park.

“Did you hear that, Mom?”

A shadow covered up what little sun made it through the leaves. Kirsten turned around and the face she saw was in perfect focus.

“Well hello, Edward.” her mother teased, “What brings you to this rough part of town.”

The man standing before her gave a smile- such a familiar smile.

_All I can remember is Ed._

“Daniel sent me to relay a message.” he dramatically cleared his throat, “Sorry, girls. I’m working through lunch. We’re on the verge of something big here. I can feel it.”  

On that last sentence, Ed slammed his fist against his chest with a _thump_ and looked longingly into the distance. Jacqueline laughed. The sound was so new, so wonderful, Kirsten’s stomach stirred.

“Well that’s your father for you, Krissy.” she said, rubbing the child’s forearm, “Why don’t you ask Ed if he’d like to join us, instead.”

Kirsten was a seven year-old with an impeccable sense of stranger danger. She’d seen him once, maybe twice before. He was not what she would consider her friend, but her mom knew him. She trusted him. That meant something, didn’t it?

“Mr. Edward,” she said with the utmost formality, “would you care to join Mom and me for a picnic?”

The man bowed his head, “Why I would love to.”

As he sat down, Jacqueline placed cups of fruit, cheese, and sandwiches in the space between them. The adults began picking off what they wanted while Kirsten sat and studied her mother. The haze around her face blurred out all distinctive features, save her hair, which was as yellow and vibrant as golden thread.

Kirsten narrowed her eyes, working to see past the mirage but it was to no avail. When she thought she was close to making something out, her mother’s face would be replaced by a cadaverous image- the cold, blue face of a corpse.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” Jacqueline asked, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

“I can’t remember.” Kirsten whimpered, eyes suddenly wet.

The sunlight vanished, the sky overcome with grey. The shadows grew darker over her mother’s face. In the distance, Kirsten thought she heard sirens.

“My sweet child,” she growled, “won’t you try.”

The girl glanced quickly at Ed, but his skin had taken the same lifeless tint. His once warm eyes were now absent. Kirsten shivered and looked back at her mother. Her flowing hair withered and turned an eerie neon green. Her teeth pushed past her lips into sharpened fangs. Kirsten backed away from the grotesque figure.

Terrified, she began to cry, “I can’t. I can’t remember.”

“Try, sweet child. Won’t you try for Mommy?”

When she didn’t respond, the monster lunged at Kirsten.

She threw her arms in front of her face and screamed, “I can’t!”

Her skull smacked against the hard ground, color exploding in her vision. The creature sunk its fangs into her shoulder. The pain was all-consuming. She heard nothing but her own screaming, saw nothing but red, could think of nothing but how much she wanted it die.

Then, at the drop of a pin, it was over. Kirsten let out a wavering breath as her heart continued to pound in her ears. Wide eyed, she surveyed the room. Lights from outside of Cameron’s window twinkled against a deep purple sky. How long had she been asleep?

Asleep. It had all been a dream.

Not a dream- a nightmare _._

“But that’s okay,” she whispered to herself, hearing his words in her head, “it was _just_ a nightmare. Nothing more.”

Her throat went dry as she spoke, as if her body was rejecting the lie. Swallowing, Kirsten tried to sit up, allowing herself to hiss at the spikes of pain. Cameron’s side of the bed was empty, the mattress not even possessing his warmth.

Grumbling under her breath, Kirsten swung her legs out over the edge of the bed. When the cool air of the apartment touched her bare skin, she shivered. It was then that she realized she was caked in sweat, most likely from her terror. She pushed damp hair off of her forehead and neck and padded over to the bedroom door. Before she slid it open, an unfamiliar voice made her freeze.

“Well I’m so glad she’s alright. And how lucky!” it said, “From the way you described it, it doesn’t seem like many people could walk away from a car accident like that and survive.”

Kirsten blinked in confusion. Risking exposure, she peeked around the door to see Cameron sitting at his dining table with his back to her. He was wearing his favorite grey hoodie- which had quickly become her favorite- and his glasses. On the table was his laptop, opened up to a grainy Skype call. She could make out some of Coleen Goodkin’s trademarks- hair in a tidy bun, gold hoop earrings that she never took off.

 “Yeah well Kirsten’s tough.” Cameron rubbed the back of his neck, “I knew she’d make it.”

The tone in his voice didn’t convince any of them.

Colleen shifted closer to the webcam, “So you brought her home this afternoon?”

Cameron nodded, then looked down and gave a small chuckle.

“What is it?” she asked.

Cameron shook his head, “It’s just that I stayed with her almost the entire time she was in the hospital. I guess I couldn’t go home unless I-“ he bit his lip, “unless I brought her with me.”

Kirsten felt a blush bloom across her cheeks. Tiny butterflies tickled her insides and she wrapped her good arm around herself. This was _classic_ Cameron. He could say the most illogical things and her pulse would race for reasons she didn’t understand.

After a long silence, Coleen spoke up, “Did you sleep in an empty bed beside her?”

Cameron’s head perked up, “Yes. How did you-“

“Oh, Cami,” she sighed, “don’t you remember? All those long nights you couldn’t fall asleep? We’d stay up reading Harry Potter and Narnia and that one about the cat who can time travel.”

Kirsten smiled, the image of a young Cameron Goodkin being read bedtime stories making her feel inexcusably giddy.

“I swear,” Coleen continued, “I couldn’t even begin to doze off until you were well into the second REM cycle.”

There was a beat of hesitation before Cameron replied somberly, “Yeah. You were always looking out for me.”

“I worry about you, Cami.” she said with a wave of her hand, “You know that.”

“I know, Ma!” Cameron slammed his palm against the table, making Kirsten jump, “I know that’s why I couldn’t go out for soccer! I know that’s why you wouldn’t let me go to summer camp!”

His words hung in the apartment, pressing down on all of them. Kirsten shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to leave her hiding place and wrap her arms around him and murmur apologizes for things she wasn’t responsible for.

Letting out a breath, Cameron propped his head atop his hand, “I know you worry, Ma, but I think I’ve proven several times over that I’m not as fragile as you think I am.”

Coleen didn’t deny it. Kirsten straightened her spine and raised her chin a little higher. For a brief moment, the white hot pain in her chest dulled to a sunshiny warmth. Every time her eyes landed on Cameron, a fit of laughter threatened to bubble out of her mouth. This was _pride_.

Taking a deep breath, his mother spoke up, “Isn’t that how you look at her?”

Her tone wasn’t mean or spiteful or even accusatory. It was simply her Goodkin curiosity coming to the surface. Cameron was silent. Kirsten pressed her palm against the door, ready to absorb every word.

“No.” he finally said, “Kirsten is reckless and stubborn and frustrating. She doesn’t listen and she doesn’t think before she acts. She has no filter and she’s constantly getting into dangerous situations without _any_ concern for her own safety…” he inhaled, “but she isn’t fragile. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

Kirsten quickly brought her hand to her mouth, fearing that they would somehow be able to see her smile through the door. Her heart began to race and even though it hurt- _so. damn. much._ \- she welcomed the newfound energy coursing through her veins.

Coleen’s lips turned upward.

“Just so.” she said in a dreamy voice, then looked down and said, “Listen, Cami. I know my badgering drives you crazy. That’s just what you do when you love someone.”

The base of Kirsten’s spine tingled and her mind played back her very first stitch. She was a strange- and as Cameron eloquently put- emotionally vacant young woman with no connections to this dashing, incredibly peculiar young man sitting at the controls. And still he fussed over her, worried about her, _cared_ about her.

In the span of a second, Kirsten had played back every nervous glance, every protective touch, every word of caution Cameron had ever given her.

He loved her. That’s why he climbed eight floors up a fire escape. That’s why he didn’t leave her bedside for eight days straight. That’s why he texts her every morning and makes her coffee at work and lets her stay at his apartment for no reason. That’s why he follows her into danger, even though he could get hurt. He loved her.

Cameron cleared his throat and brought Kirsten out of her tidal wave of thoughts.

“I mean,” he stammered, “love, sure, but there are other-“

“Oh Cami, please! You’re about as subtle as your father.”

Kirsten watched his ears turn bright red. He sheepishly ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. And just like that, she was reeling again.

Coleen lower her voice to the point where Kirsten had to lean in to catch it.

“Have you told her?” she inquired.

“What?” Cameron didn’t meet her at a whisper, “God, no!”

Coleen maintained her neutral expression, “Do you think you will?”

He scoffed as if it were an insult, then relaxed and said, “I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

Immediately, Coleen spit out, “Don’t.”

Cameron and Kirsten both froze like the single word had paralyzed them.  

In their moment of shock, she explained, “Cami, I’m going to tell you something. You have to promise not to hang up on me.”

“Ma…” he squeaked in surprise.

“ _Promise_ , Cameron.” she pressed.

Running a hand through his hair, Cameron shrugged, “I promise.”

Kirsten pressed her check against the door, goosebumps appearing up and down her arm.

“If that girl can’t tell you love her, she doesn’t deserve you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mama Goodkin in the house! It’s not much of an ending but I couldn’t find a better spot to split it. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I’ll see you very soon with Part 2!


	13. What We Deserve Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for your patience. Hopefully, you consider this chapter worth the wait. Enjoy.

Cameron’s jaw fell open. Kirsten’s heart stopped.

Unfazed, Coleen went on, “If she can’t see everything you do for her, then she’s either hopelessly ignorant or simply ungrateful. Neither deserve your time and effort, Cami.”

His mother’s words felt like they were leaving actual bruises on her skin. Part of her wanted to reveal herself, storm out in front of that webcam and tell Coleen that she was wrong. It may have taken her awhile to realize Cameron’s feeling for her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t grateful.

She owed so much to Cameron! He was her partner, her best friend. He was the first person she’d call when things went wrong and the first person she wanted to celebrate with when things went right. He stood up for her in a way no one ever had and that’s why she lo-

Kirsten silenced her thoughts before they could go any further. Her stomached dropped, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, one breath away from plummeting. She felt like Megan had on the edge of that balcony- eight floors up with nothing but cold concrete to catch her.

Backing away from the door slowly, Kirsten tried to block out whatever else was said between the two, which wasn’t hard because her ears were ringing. She half-consciously made her way into the bathroom, squinting in the harsh white light. Her limbs moved mindlessly as she turned the faucet, steaming water filling the bathtub.

She carefully took her arm out of its sling, biting her lip to keep herself from crying out. Undressing was a slow, painstaking process, but eventually she succeeded. Bandages covered her skin from the edge of her collar bone to the middle of her forearm. She didn’t dare look up into the mirror.

Flicking the faucet off, she dipped one of her toes in to test the water. Her pale skin flushed red almost instantly, steam rising out of the tub and collecting on every surface it could. She submerged her leg completely, the burning of her skin distracting her from the pain in her chest and shoulder.

She settled in, careful not to soak her dressings, and leaned her head back against the edge of the tub. She could still hear muffled chatter from the other room, but ignored it. She focused only on the whirring bathroom lights and the blood pounding in her ears.

She concentrated on her breathing. In and out, nice and slow. She was good. She was okay.

The water lost its bite, becoming a much more comfortable temperature. The lights dimmed and stopped humming. Around her, she heard the buzzing of lab equipment and the steady pulsing of health monitors.

“You’re good, Sweetie.” she knew the voice immediately as her father’s, “Just concentrate on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow.”

“Daniel, I don’t-“ her mother’s teary voice came from somewhere close, “There has to be a-“

“There is no other way, Jac! We’ve been through this over and over again and each time we agree that this is the best thing for Kirsten!”

His words ricocheted off of the walls.

Kirsten heard some shuffling and then, “It’s going to be okay, Jac.”

It was Ed.

Her mother sighed, “She just deserves so much better than this.”

“You’re right,” he said, “she does.”

She heard her mother begin to cry. It quickly became muffled, like she was sobbing into someone’s shirt. Kirsten tried to turn and see what was happening but she was met with resistance. Something was fastened around her head, yellow and red wires poking out from the corner of her vision. Tubes of all different sizes and colors wove across her body and made it almost impossible to move.

She wasn’t afraid, though. She felt safe, secure. Her dad was smart. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

“Readings are normal.” a fourth voice presented itself, “We’re good to go on your mark, Dan.”

Kirsten recognized who it was before her father even responded, “Thanks, Maggie.”

Then Ed added, “For everything.”

A low, almost bitter chuckle bounced in her ear, “If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Mags, you know that’s not true.” Ed sighed, “Les would be making these threats with or without you.“

“If we’re going to do this,” her mother spat, “then let’s get it over with.”

Kirsten’s mind whirled with questions but something was telling her to stay silent. Let the grownups talk.

“You’re right, honey.” her dad cleared his throat, “Alright, Krissy. We’re ready to go when you are.”

Dozens of emotions sparked and crackled inside her skull. Fear, determination, anger, fear, pride, _fear_. They were hot and dangerous.

“I’m ready.” she said, voice cracking.

There was a moment of silence, filled with what Kirsten could only imagine being nervous glances between the colleagues before her father spoke again.

“Alright.” he said, “We have lights at twenty percent. I need a confirmation for neuro-synchronization. Engineering?”

“Go.” Maggie said.

“Communications?”

“We’re a go.” Ed chimed.

“Medical?”

Nothing. Kirsten thought her heart would burst from the anticipation.

“ _Medical_?”

Jacqueline sighed, “Go.”

“Alright. Comm check. Krissy, remember what we talked about?”

She nodded vigorously, “Yes, Daddy. Stay relaxed and don’t fight it.”

“And no matter what happens, I’m with you.”

“We all are.” her mother added quickly.

Kirsten exhaled. The tension building in her chest was making it hard to breath.

Before she could get a grip, her father said, “Initiate neuro-synchronization on my mark. Three…”

Think, sour saliva threatened to choke her.

“Two…”

She had to keep her heart beat under control. If she didn’t, the monitors would know, and then Daddy wouldn’t let her do it. She _had_ to do this, wanted to. She wanted to be helpful.

“One. Induce neuro-synchronization.”

0o0o0o0

Coleen watched her son with knowing, calculating eyes. He was gaping at her as if she’d said something blasphemous. She kept her composure despite the growing urge to shake her head.

“Close your mouth, Cameron.” she tisked, “All I’m saying is-“

“ _How dare you?_ ” he growled.

The sound was low and hoarse, barely recognizable. Coleen closed her mouth with a startled yip. She blinked rapidly and fought to keep her face calm.

“Cameron,” she said, stronger than she felt, “what on Earth-“

“How dare you!”

His words were articulated by his palms slamming against the table.  He stood up and she heard the chair screech as it was pushed back. She couldn’t see his face. She could only watch his knuckles turn white and his fists shake, like he was suppressing an explosion underneath his skin.

Coleen wanted to speak up, ask what she’d done wrong, but her tongue was paper thin. Cameron pushed back from the table- with more force than had been necessary- and stormed out of view of the webcam. The metal chair toppled over with a metallic _clang_.

Finding her voice, Coleen stuttered, “C-Cami?”

After a few dreadful moments of nothing, her son stood back in front of the computer. Her shoulders deflated with relief, but it didn’t last. Cameron’s muscles were taught, his face flushed. She couldn’t recall a time when she had ever seen him this upset. The fact that his anger was for some reason directed at her made her eyes sting with moisture.

“Cameron I-“

“I don’t need to hear your _judgement_ , Ma.” he looked like he was struggling to keep his voice from becoming a scream, “You don’t even know her. You don’t know what she’s been through.”

Something ticked in the back of Coleen’s mind- an annoying realization. He was defending her, Kirsten. It isn’t that she hadn’t expected him to. The boy was clearly so deep in love land, it was ridiculous to think she could pull him back without being met with some resistance. But the rage he was displaying now- the utter disdain in his eyes as he looked at her- was all because _that girl_?

“Cameron,” she sighed, “we’ve all had our hardships, but that doesn’t give her the right to completely ignore you.”

He surprised her then. His eyebrows rose into his hairline and his lips twitched up in a resentful smile. Had she said something funny? He ran a hand over his face and chuckled dryly.

“Temporal dysplasia, ever heard of it?”

Clearly, she’d missed a joke.

“Oh course I have. What does that have to do with anything?”

“She has it.” he clenched his fists again, “She has to work _so_ hard every day just to try and be accepted by everyone else. By people like you that judge what they don’t understand.”

He pointed his finger at her through the screen, emphasizing his accusation.

“She has more heart than anyone I’ve ever met. She is a _hero_ and I will not let you even suggest that she is anything less.”

Potent, suffocating silence crept in after his words had stopped echoing in her ears. She knew what all of the words meant, but for some reason her brain couldn’t figure out how to put them together.

She must have looked as flabbergasted as she felt, because Cameron’s anger began to dissipate. He dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Look, Ma, it’s not that-“

His voice was interrupted by something that made her heart sink even lower. From somewhere else in the apartment, there came a pained, agonizing scream.

Cameron whipped around so fast, and before Coleen could process what had happened, he reached for the laptop and slammed it shut. All she was left with was static.

0o0o0o0

“Tell me what you see, sweetheart.” he dad sounded like he was trying to be calm, but there was panic underneath it.

Kirsten smiled at the familiarity of her surroundings. She was in a spacious sitting room, with pale green walls and a fluffy, dark brown couch.

“I’m at home.” she giggled, “I’m making a fort out of the couch cushions.”

“ _Daniel._ ” her mother sounded mad.

Her father cleared his throat, “Alright, Krissy, we’ve sent you back too far. I’m going to move you to a later memory, okay?”

Kirsten should have agreed right away, but she didn’t. She liked this memory. She felt light and safe. She wanted to stay here, but she mentally squared her shoulders. Mommy and Daddy were counting on her.

“Okay, Daddy.” she said, her tiny voice strong.

A tickling sensation ran over her entire body, like she was falling through a cloud. In her vision, everything slowed to a stop until the next instant and she was somewhere totally new.

“Baby?” Jacqueline pressed.

“I’m at home, again.” Kirsten said, her voice becoming distant, “It’s dark outside. I’m wearing my Power Rangers pj’s.”

“What are you doing, Krissy?”

She watched herself wander aimlessly around the first floor until her memory-self stopped in front of cream colored doors.

“I’m going into the office.” she said as her memory pushed inside.

“And what do you see in the office?” Daniel’s voice rose slightly, like she was hinting at something important.

Her chest felt warm. _This_ was what they wanted her to do. This was how she could help.

“I’m sitting down at the desk, in front of the computer.” she said, “I remember. I wanted to play some chess before bed.”

When no one spoke, she kept going, “There’s all these numbers on the screen. I don’t know what it means.”

Her mother took a sharp breath. Ed spoke first.

“That’s it, Kirsten! You did it.”

Her father interjected, annoyed, “She isn’t done yet.”

His voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge, “Alright, Krissy, here comes the tricky part. What do I need you to do?”

“Ground myself.” she said like answering a question in school.

“Yes, that’s right. Hold yourself in that memory, okay? Don’t lose it.”

Kirsten nodded and swallowed hard. Her palms were beginning to tingle, all her nerves were alert.

“Ed, how does the connection look?”

“She looks good, Dan.” he sounded proud, “She’s a natural at this.”

“Alright,” her father said it like her was hoping that hadn’t been the answer, “let’s begin.”

The tension that had been building up in her seemed to release all at once and Kirsten couldn’t control what came out of her mouth.

“I love you, Daddy.”

She didn’t know why she’d said it and she didn’t have time to think about it, because suddenly her mind was on fire.

White light exploded in her vision and she wanted so desperately to close her eyes. Her heart felt like it was pushing its way into her throat.

“Krissy!” her mother’s voice pierced her ears like an ice pick, “Krissy, talk to me, please!”

Pain tore apart her response until it was an incomprehensible scream.

“Kirsten!” she sobbed, “Daniel, we can’t do this anymore! She can’t take it!”

“It’s her only chance, Jac!”

 _Daddy_ , she wanted to say, _turn it off. Please, Daddy it hurts!_

She was breaking apart, her pieces scattering across space. Her blood was pounding in her veins and she was sure they were about to burst.

_Bam. Bam. Bam._

“Kirsten!”

_Bam. Bam. Bam._

“Kirsten, are you okay?”

Even in its high pitched panic, she recognized the voice as _his_.

“Cam,” she choked out.

There was a series of little clicks and the sound of the door slamming against the bathroom wall.

His face- his beautiful, beautiful face- cut through the blinding light. His image kept un-focusing itself until she felt his hand on her cheek and just like that, she wasn’t breaking anymore.

“Cam,” she breathed, truly seeing him for the first time.

He was distraught, and she had enough cognition to understand that she was the cause of it. Concern etched ugly wrinkles across his face.

“I’m here.” he said, slipping his arms under the water and wrapping them around her, “I’m right here.”

Nausea rocked through her as he lifted her out of the tub and gingerly placed her on the cool tile floor. Their contact was broken for a moment- an infinitely too long moment- before he wrapped a towel around her hunched shoulders.

He held her in an embrace that wasn’t quite a hug, his body separated enough so that he could survey all of her. He pushed damp hair away from her face and rested his palm back on her cheek.

“Kirsten,” her name escaped his lips like a prayer.

Their gazes met, but she couldn’t hold it for long. She collapsed into his chest, unsatisfied with the minimal amount of touching. She _needed_ him to touch her, right now. He gasped, afraid that she’d lost consciousness, until she wrapped her right arm around him and he relaxed.

“Kirsten,” he said into her shoulder, warming her skin.

His fingers rubbed gently at the nape of her neck and his other arm cradled her against him. She wanted to stay there- with his body protecting her. His heart was beating dangerously fast. She pressed her palm against it.

“You should slow your breathing down.” she said, “You’re heart’s beating really fast.”

He made a noise of disbelief, “So is yours.”

The faintest smile tugged at her lips. Then it occurred to her what had just happened- what she’d remembered- and it fell away.

Clutching his shirt like a lifeline, she whispered, “I need to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much, not only for reading and commenting, but for supporting me and this story. It means so much to me that you’re all actually interested in what I’m doing and I love very single one of you!


	14. Glass

“Can I stay here tonight?”

Linus froze mid-step and pivoted on his heel to face her. Camille was standing rigid in the doorway of his flat, rain soaked hair clinging to her face and neck. She was staring at him expectantly, anxiously. She looked so vulnerable.

“What now?” Linus narrowed his eyes and took a step closer to her, sure that he’d misheard.

That was clearly not the correct response. Hurt flashed behind her eyes- so quick, barely a glimpse- before her expression settled into her familiar smirk. It was so easy, so well-rehearsed. Anyone who didn’t know her- _really_ know her- probably would have mistaken it to be genuine. Linus knew better.

“Nothing.” she shoved her hands into her damp pockets, “I’m starving. Delivery might not be the best idea because of the rain but we can probably throw something together on our own.”

She shed her coat and sashayed passed him toward the kitchen. His mouth had been hanging open, utterly baffled.  Shaking himself out of his trance, he shrugged off his own jacket and caught up with her.

“You want to spend the night?” he repeated, the corners of his lips slowly creeping upward.

Camille bit the inside of her cheek, not meeting his gaze. She kept her hands busy rooting through the refrigerator.

“Let’s see,” she said, “we’ve got some bagel bites, what looks like yogurt. _Gasp_ , is that leftover tandoori chicken I see?”

Fed up with her avoidance, Linus closed the fridge door and slid in front of her in one fluid motion. Their faces were so close, he could feel her breath creep over his lips. Camille blinked at him but regained her composure almost instantly.

“Alright, I won’t touch the chicken.” she promised.

_Oh, she is quite the actress, alright._

“Stop changing the subject.” he ordered, crossing his arms over his chest, “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

Just like a hairline fracture through glass, her mask cracked. Her jaw clenched and her eyes blurred out of focus. Camille realized why the words had come tumbling out of her as soon as they’d arrived. Her chest tightened at the mere thought of trudging back into the rain, only to return to an again empty house. She was so tired of being alone.

Now that the question was in the air between them, she wasn’t sure. The idea of sleeping over at Linus’s somehow managed to calm and terrify her at the same time. On the one hand, it was _Linus_. The one person who’d never judged her for who she was, never asked her to change, and from the start treated her like an equal. On the other hand, it was _Linus._ The incurable romantic who had this insistent delusion that she was “serious relationship” material, that her past hadn’t left her damaged and scarred, that she had hope. Asking to spend the night would only encourage those delusions.

Linus watched her space out with mild amusement. He and Camille had been doing this dance for quite a while. She’d open up a bit, he’d inevitably screw it up, she’d try to retreat back behind that smirk, and he’d coax her out of it. They’d become quite the performers.  

“Alright,” he sighed, recapturing her attention, “Camille, would you mind spending the night here?”

The brunette’s lip twitched and she rolled her eyes. She was still working her jaw, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of his proposal. His chest felt warm and heavy with the familiar weight of unrequited love.   

“And maybe,” his voice was softer, “you wouldn’t mind staying here for a while?”

Her brows knitted together in confusion and a crimson blush spread over his caramel skin. Mumbling nervously, Linus scooted out from between Camille and the fridge so he could pace along the length of the kitchen.

“Kirsten is staying at Cam’s until the cops have some kind of lead on Black Berry,” he met her eyes briefly every time he passed her, “you know… because the house could be unsafe and I… I’d just feel better if you stayed here. Plus I don’t really think you should be alone right now, just with everything that’s happened and… you know.”

_Because I know what you want. You want to feel safe, like you’re never going to be hurt again. You hide behind your walls and you don’t think I’d stay if I saw what was on the other side._

His hands felt clammy and hot. He eventually stopped his pacing to gage her face for some kind of reaction. She was staring at him intensely, like he’d said something really poetic.

She shook her head and muttered, “I adore you.”

Linus twitched as if he’d been shocked and took a step closer to her.

“Sorry, what?”

Now within arm’s reach, Camille placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. She squeezed and rubbed her thumb along his collar. The contact was reassuring.

“I’d appreciate that.” she said, “Thank you.”

He was still paralyzed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into an embrace. He’d been pulled into her arms a handful of times for aggressive kisses and _creative_ foreplay, but this was completely different. This was gentle and needy and innocent. Linus hesitantly returned the hug moments before Camille pulled away.

“Now,” her playful demeanor returning, ”about that chicken…”

0o0o0o0

Groaning, Linus heaved himself into a sitting position. After whipping up a sufficient dinner, Camille had taken over his work desk, using all three monitors simultaneously. She was picking up right where they’d left off at the lab, trying to identify Black Berry. After about an hour, Linus’ eyes had begun to droop and he claimed that lying down on the couch would help him think. He must have passed out.

Rubbing his eyes, Linus shuffled down the short hallway of his flat to his bedroom where he expected to find a sleeping Camille. She enjoyed creating a nest for herself out of the blankets and pillows. To his surprise she wasn’t there.

That’s when he noticed the decisive- and clearly frustrated- patter of computer keys. Sighing and shaking his head, Linus retreated back toward the kitchen. The dining room he’d converted into a mini work area was separated by a low half wall and there was Camille. Her brows were knitted in contempt, clearly unhappy with whatever she was looking at.

There was a half-eaten piece of toast next to her and a coffee mug half the size of her head.  

“Oh geez.” Linus said, clasping his hands behind his back in an attempt to stretch his sore muscles, “How long have I been out?”

Camille- who was holding a pen in her mouth- didn’t look away from the monitor when she responded, “About four and a half hours.”

Linus turned his head and blinked at the orange sunlight spilling through the window. The landscape outside showed no vestiges of the downpour the night before.

“How long have you been working?” he asked tentatively.

“About four hours and twenty minutes.”

His mouth hung agape before he processed that information and sighed.

“Camille…”

Finally she pulled her eyes away from the fluorescent screen and shot him a rabid look. His mouth went dry.

“Look,” she said in that way of hers that was slightly provocative but totally terrifying, “so long as Black Berry is still out there, we’re all in danger. Okay? Kirsten could have died!”

She stood abruptly and pushed closer to him, clutching the coffee cup until her knuckles whitened.

“I’m not just going to sit around and do nothing until-“

The words seemed to freeze in the middle of her chest, blocking her air. She bit her lip- hard- trying so desperately not to look like she was suffocating.

Naturally, Linus noticed right away and unhinged her fingers from the mug. He placed it behind him on the counter and turned back to slip his hands over Camille’s shoulders. His gaze was direct and unrelenting, giving her nowhere to hide. She didn’t speak. Her unsaid confession began to melt and she felt like she could breathe again.

_I can’t wait until someone else I love is taken away from me._

Linus ran his hands up and down her forearms- a platonic action that carried a lot more meaning than it should have. Camille kept time with him, breathing in and out to the rhythm he created. That went on for several moments before she stabilized.

Linus waited another beat before releasing her and turning back toward the coffee pot. He filled two mugs while Camille began to pace.

“Okay,” she sounded more collected, “so we know Monica Avery was an alias. The name doesn’t turn up anything useful in the L.A.P.D. data base or the California Department of Justice criminal records.”

Linus faced her with two steaming cups in his hands, extending one toward her. She muttered a thank you and took a long drink. He’d added the perfect amount of sugar, as always.

He took a sip from his own cup and said, “The photo I.D she had to give to the hospital hasn’t worked, either.”

Camille rubbed her temples and ran her hand over her face.

“Whoever this chick is,” she said with a groan, “she’s smart. Like _scary_ smart. Forging a nursing license, staying off the grid…”

“And on top of that, she had to know about Stitchers.”

Camille threw her hands up, wincing as coffee spilled onto her palm.

“Exactly! There are only a couple dozen immediate staff- ourselves included- but how many people does Les Turner have under his thumbs that could have done this?”

Linus broke their eye contact and stared intently into his drink.

“What now?”

The question felt like a sticky, heavy ooze crawling over her skin. She could tell by the way Linus’ shoulders sagged that he felt it, too. All this fancy stuff about being a _man of science_ and her an _expert in acoustic wave theory_ , and neither of them knew what to do.

She wanted to bang her head against the wall and scream, but that was quitter talk. Finishing the last of her coffee and tossing the cup into the sink, Camille squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

“We need someone close to Les who has access to everything Stitchers: test subjects, researchers, staff members.”

Linus nodded, feeding off of her new-found resolve, “Alright. Alright, yeah we can do that.”

The brains hummed on the same frequency, scrolling through a list of candidates. Then there was a light, a bell as all the slots on the machine fell into place.

In unison they chimed, “Maggie.”

0o0o0o0

“ _You can hold a butterfly’s heart in your hand,”_

Sparks snapped to life, filling the dim room with a burst of blue and orange light. She didn’t flinch.

“ _And crush it in your fingers like a grain of sand.”_

There was a kick, a sputter, but no beeping. Always with the beeping. She didn’t fret. She would have her chance. Emily unhooked the cables from the generator and moved on to the tank.

_“Weep, little butterfly, you’ve lost your mind.”_

She reached out and ran her hand along the edge. A glass coffin fit for a princess. She smiled.

 “ _Poor little butterfly, all out of time.”_


	15. Pieces From a Different Puzzle

Ed Clark had been an awesome father. That fact stayed on Kirsten’s mind like a throbbing headache. He had been the _perfect_ father, and for what? A strange, emotionally-void little girl to whom he owed nothing? Why did he do it?

As Kirsten sat on the rim of the bath tub, halfheartedly running a brush through her hair, she thought back to her first day of middle school. She’d cut her hair the night before, trying to form some semblance of a bob. She was a different person, then. She still believed what other people thought of her mattered.

Ed had taken one look at the mess and without hesitation came to her rescue. He trimmed the blonde locks until they passed for some kind of style and then smoothed them down with a silver brush. He talked the whole time, never expecting a response, never knowing how much she liked the sound of his voice.

Then he’d chuckle and say something like, “Gosh, your mother would have had a field day if she’d seen this.”

Then she’d shut down. That one word had _so much_ power over her. On command, her heart beat would accelerate and her lungs would struggle to expand. Whatever connection had been forming between the two of them would be severed as she dashed out of the bathroom. He’d never follow up or make her talk about it. Were there even words? How could someone react so intensely at the mention of someone they couldn’t even remember?

No, Ed never made her discuss her emotions, but he was always pushing her to _feel_ them, just like her friends were doing now. He’d been looking out for her from day one.

She didn’t deserve it.

Sighing, Kirsten set the brush back on her side of the counter and padded out of the bathroom, careful not to look in the mirror again. She was wearing a pair of Cameron’s sweat pants and a Doctor Who T-shirt. At some point she would probably need to ask him to take her home so she could pack herself a bag. Then again, she was more than happy to just continue _borrowing_.

Circling the room, she quickly decided to pull a long-sleeved flannel out of one of Cameron’s drawers. She draped it over her shoulders like a shawl. The fabric almost hid her sling completely from view. Kirsten buried her nose into the shirt collar, breathing in his detergent and signature earthy scent.

Satisfied, she headed out into the kitchen. Cameron had his back to her, his phone pressed up against his ear with one hand and the other pouring two cups of tea.

“Well tell her that she’s being ridiculous.” he scoffed, “No, Pop. It was nothing she needs to worry about. Kirsten saw a spider in my apartment and freaked out, that’s all.”

Her jaw dropped, recalling when Camille had seen a spider in their living room and lost her mind. She did not appreciate the comparison.  

“I know that!” he continued, “Of course, I would tell you if something were really wrong.”

There was silence on his end for a long moment. Kirsten tried to remain absolutely still, really _really_ hoping that he wasn’t about to turn around.

“Sure, Pop, anything.” his tone suddenly deep with sincerity.

His muscles were tense, like he was standing in enemy territory. Again there was a long silence and Kirsten wished she had her phone. It would have been child’s play to simply tap into their line and find out what his father was saying.

Finally, Cameron sighed and said, “Yeah, Pop. I think she is.”

That response felt like a bee sting- unexpected, irritating, and unable to ignore.

_Who is? Me is? Your mother is? The mother that hates my guts because I made you fall in love with me and then was too… ‘me’ to see it?_

Frustration rose in her throat like a growl when Cameron said, “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Pop. Yeah, I love you, too.”

He ended the call and slid the phone into his back pocket. The movement pulled his shirt up ever so slightly, teasing the hem of his boxers. Kirsten blushed.

Forcing herself to get a grip, she placed her hand on her hip and cleared her throat. Cameron spun around like he’d been caught in the midst of a robbery. His palms were faced out to her in surrender. She had to resist smiling.

Stepping closer, Kirsten said, “So, about that spider…”

Cameron dropped his head, accepting his defeat, and turned back to the cups of tea.

“All that matters is that they bought it, so my mother isn’t going to send a Navy S.E.A.L team in here to investigate.”

Kirsten chuckled, “I don’t think the S.E.A.L’s handle domestic disturbances.”

Cameron didn’t laugh, didn’t even roll his eyes.

“Linus and Camille should be here in a bit.”

His blunt tone made her deflate. She tugged on the collar of the flannel as if she could disappear behind it.

“Did you tell them-“

“About you scaring the hell out of me for the second time this week?”

She shrank back like he’d hit her. The bitterness in his tone was so unfamiliar, so disorienting. The first thought that reached her mind filled her with an unpleasant feeling.

 _Maybe he took his mother’s advice. Maybe he’s moving on_.

That would have been for the best- best for him- so why did she feel like her heart was being crushed?

Cameron exhaled, bracing himself against the counter top. His back was still to her, but she watched his muscles relax dramatically.

“I’m sorry.” he sounded _so_ tired, “That wasn’t called for. No, I haven’t told them about your flashback.”

While exhausted, his voice was rid of the harshness, and she was so grateful for it. She didn’t deserve his love, but she couldn’t live in a world where they weren’t friends. Legs moving on their own accord, she closed the space between them and wrapped her arm around his torso. She pressed her forehead into his T-shirt and shut her eyes.

Their heartbeats danced in and out of rhythm and she could feel his chest expand with each breath. It felt like the only stimulation she’d ever need.

They stood for a moment in silence until Cameron said, “I’m sorry, Stretch. This week has just been so…”

“Unusual?” she offered, feeling herself doze off as he radiated heat.

“ _Unbearable_.”

She felt his muscles flex as he pushed his fists into the counter top. The week had been strenuous for everyone, but she believed no one had been dealt a harder blow than Cameron.

Nuzzling against him, she murmured, “Linus told me you wouldn’t leave the hospital.”

Lifting her head, she watched him bite the inside of his cheek. He must have been able to feel her eyes, because he glanced back at her and smiled softly. He unhooked her arm and rotated so that they were face to face. His hands wove around her sides and hers snaked up his torso to rest over his heart.

It was impossible for her not to feel the ferocity of his pulse. It had been on the rise since he’d turned around to see her, wearing one of his favorite flannels and looking so damn perfect he couldn’t stand it.

_Well, perfect, aside from the sling she’s wearing to keep her from tearing the stitches that she had to get after being shot in the chest by a psycho sniper who wants her dead._

Cameron had to remind himself to breathe. He focused on the details of her face. A different version of her- pale and fading - was etched into his mind like a scar. He wanted desperately to replace that image with a happier one, a more familiar one.

Swallowing hard, he finally said, “I wanted to make sure I was there…” he trailed off.

A faint smile tugged at her lips, “So you could lecture me as soon as I woke up?”

He tried to laugh, but his trembling lip turned it into a pathetic sound.

“So that if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be alone. So I’d have your back, like always.”

His eyes stung from a mix of raw emotion and sleep deprivation. He bore into her, hoping that she could somehow read them and know how much the thought of losing her terrified him. Her brown eyes were deep, receiving, understanding. She placed her hand on his cheek, running her thumb across his skin.

“Always.” she whispered.

The word settled over him like heat. He became acutely aware of all the ways they were touching- her palm against his cheek, her left arm cradled against his chest, the curve of her hips beneath his fingers. Even the most pragmatic part of him couldn’t deny the level of intimacy existing between them.

_So why is it not enough?_

Kirsten pulled his thoughts away from that, biting her lip and saying, “Cameron, I have to tell you something.”

He felt the blood drain from his head like a levy breaking. Furrowing her brow, Kirsten took a step back, hand falling away from his cheek.

“Why that face?”

He opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head and turned back to the cups of tea. He busied himself adding the appropriate amount of creamer into Kirsten’s and a generous sample of honey into his.

Scrunching her nose, Kirsten turned toward the living room and hopped down onto the couch. She instantly regretted in, hissing in pain. Cameron sped over with the drinks, placing them on the coffee table then sitting across from her to inspect her shoulder. He’d had to help her change the dressing after what happened in the bathroom, but there was no blood that he could see.

With a huff, he shot her a look that said, “If you hurt yourself again, I’m going to be pissed, so knock it off.”

Kirsten fired back, “Why that face?”

Cameron stared at her, dumbfounded, like the answer should have been written on his forehead.

 “Because, Snow White, every time you’ve said that to me thus far, it’s been another piece of a puzzle that doesn’t even look likes it’s from the same box.”

They both reached for their cups as Kirsten said, “Okay, that was a bit of a convoluted metaphor, but I understood it.” She took a sip, “Anyway, it’s not about Megan or Black Berry or any of it. It’s about… us.”

That word seemed to activate some kind of slow-motion function on his brain. Everything in the room fell away expect for the way she was looking at him right now. He would have begun to think the end times if he hadn’t felt a burning sensation between his legs. He glanced down and realized that he’d missed his mouth and spilled half his cup onto his privates. Then the pain registered.

He yelped and sprang off of the couch, setting the cup down and rushing back into the kitchen as neatly and with as much dignity as possible. He grabbed a towel off of the counter and, hidden safely behind the island, dabbed at the _very_ tender area.

He looked up momentarily in horror, expecting to see Kirsten starring at him like a freak. Instead, she was facing the window, completely away from him. He was confused for a moment until he noticed her shoulders shaking and the repressed laughter fighting its way out.

“Ok, thank you, Princess.” he muttered, “Laugh it up.”

With his permission, the giggles burst out of her. She buried her head in her hand, her whole body seizing with joyful tremors. Rolling his eyes, and trying not to think about how he was undoubtedly blushing, Cameron hobbled back into the living room.

Mustering up the last of his pride, he said, “Ignoring the tea stain on my crotch, let’s get back to the situation at hand.”

Kirsten nodded, forcing her lips to uncurl. It took a bit before she could look him in the eyes without laughing. When she managed to control herself, her gaze became dense and sincere. Nothing in the world could have pulled him away from her in that moment. He leaned forward, expectant.

“Cameron,” she began, “I know I’m at a deficit when it comes to understanding emotions and people-“

“Through no fault of your own.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but continued, “And I know I’m not one for tact or discretion-“

“You don’t sugarcoat things.” he said simply, “So what?”

Another glare, “Anyway, I may seem like I don’t care about anything or anyone but-“

“That’s total crap! You’re one of the most caring-“

“Cameron!” she threw her hand over his mouth, “Stop defending me. Just let me finish.”

The feeling of her skin on his lips threatened to make his heart stop. The scent of her caramel lotion tickled his nose. He nodded mutely and she dropped her hand to his knee.

“Thank you.” she breathed, “Look, my point is… that I’m not who I was when I first joined the Stitchers Program.”

The corners of his lips turned up. If someone had told him after his first conversation with the Queen Estupido that she would not only become his best friend, but that he’d fall head over heels in love with her, he would have had them committed.

“Yeah, Stretch.” he covered her hand with his, running his thumb across her knuckles, “That much goes without saying.”

Kirsten smiled bashfully. He felt an irrational sort of relief come over him as a rosy blush filled her cheeks. For eight days, her skin was tinted a cadaverous grey and even after she’d woken up her friends knew she wasn’t herself. She’d been a ghost. Now the life was finally returning to her.

Feeling brave, Cameron wove his fingers in between hers. There was no hesitation when she squeezed his hand and shifted on the couch so that their legs were touching. She’d broken their gaze and was now staring intently at his shirt, making it difficult for him to read her face.

“I’ve seen and learned so much.” her voice sounded like it was just on the edge of cracking, “I’ve _changed_ so much.”

“I know that, Stretch. I do.” he swiveled his head, trying to meet her eyes, “You’ve made a lot of progress.”

Reaching out with his other hand, his fingers hooked delicately underneath her chin. It was trembling.

“I have.” she sniffled, “And without fail, the person at the center of it all is…” he lifted her chin and their gazes met, “you.”

He felt the circuits in his brain overheating, sparking, trying to compute what that word meant. His entire body was malfunctioning. His heart, already being held together by a thread, was jumping wildly around his chest.

“Me?” he said in disbelief.

Kirsten nodded, biting down on her bottom lip. He retracted his hand but she took it in her own and entwined their fingers.

“Since day one, you’ve been in my head. You’ve been right beside me while I discover these new feelings I didn’t even know I was capable of.” she tugged on his arm, pulling him closer until their faces were no longer at a causal distance, “You’ve been there, letting me follow my gut, talking me through hard situations, being my _friend._ ”

The word fell from her lips as if it were forbidden, like she didn’t dare speak it outside this room. It settled in Cameron’s ears like an incantation, a spell drawing him even closer. He could feel her breath catch and see the intensity in her eyes.

“It’s exactly as you said.” she sounded breathless, “You’ve always had my back.”

Fingers still entangled, she raised his hand and gingerly held it above her heart. Even beneath all of the bandaging, Cameron could feel her pulse rising.

“I just,” she said, “I need you to understand how important you are to me.”

They were impossibly close, breathing the same air, and he didn’t know what was keeping him from closing the distance. Her voice was in his head, saying the words over and over and over again. He was important to her. The high that knowledge brought was stronger than any drug. Cameron understood that this wasn’t how science worked, but times like this he swore she was truly toxic- radiating energy and danger.

The time bomb between them gave a final click and reality itself seemed to be caught in the explosion. Cameron shut his eyes, drew in a breath, and put all of his courage into pressing his lips against hers. She sat completely rigid and regret crashed into him. Then, just before he thought hope was lost, she sighed into his mouth and returned the kiss.

He was overcome with stimulation, fire flooding his body as she leaned into him and wrapped her arm around his neck. His hands found her sides like they’d been searching and finally found where they belonged.  

It was utter euphoria and nothing could pull him away.

Except for the sound of the front door flying open and Camille’s delighted voice yelling, “Well it’s about time!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SQUAW! I don’t know, hopefully you enjoyed that. Thank you so so so so so so so much for reading and please don’t be afraid to give feedback.


	16. No Turning Back

Camille’s mouth formed a perfect semicircle, her eyes the size of planets as she took in the sight before her.

“Well it’s about time,” she sang in practically falsetto.

Kirsten’s mind was so overcome with sensation – _kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss –_ she could barely register what was just said. Cameron’s hands remained at her sides, some of his fingers brushing over her skin where her shirt had ridden up. Air caught in her chest as she tried to remember how to breathe.

Reality settled over them like a fog and Cameron slowly separated from her. His body language made it clear that was the _last_ thing he wanted to be doing. Kirsten watched the muscles in his neck as he swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek. After a heartbeat, his eyes flickered to hers. She blinked and dropped her gaze, hating the heat rushing to her cheeks.

Camille, who had been staring at the pair like they were tigers at the zoo, turned to Linus and said, “It’s June, so who won? Ayo?”

He mimicked her smirk- playful with just a hint of malice- and replied, “Nah, Ayo bet for early May. Looks like the pot goes to Chelsea.”

Another moment passed before comprehension pushed through the fading euphoria.

“You guys were betting on us?” Kirsten said, horrified, at the same time Cameron said with an intrigued expression, “Ayo bet on May? Was she the earliest?”

“Nope. Poor overly optimistic Alex bet on the end of October.”

Cameron nodded slightly, “Thanks, Alex.”

Kirsten gawked at them. Every response she could think of disappeared before her voice could find it. The pleased look on Cameron’s face fell when he saw her staring at them with wide, unreadable eyes. Squaring his shoulders, he gave Camille his most formidable glare.

“Ever heard of knocking, Tiny Tina?”

She shrugged, “Leave a sock on the door next time.”

Embarrassment flared in Kirsten’s cheeks again.

“Practice what you preach.” she huffed.

Camille’s lips curled into a silent O and her eyebrows reached her hairline. The brunette knew exactly what her roommate was referring to. She would have inserted a quick subject changer when Linus- who looked like he had not been paying the two any attention- snickered.

“Dude, what’s on your crotch?”

The sentence seemed so out of place that no one could really speak. Another moment, the buffering icon vanished from over their heads and Cameron dashed into the bedroom. Sympathy warmed Kirsten’s skin, but she giggled all the same. The more she thought about the novelty of the situation, the more she laughed. She put her hand over her mouth, trying to keep the hysteria inside. Her roommate met her with a mischievous stare to which the blonde waved her off.

“It’s just tea.” she assured them.

They were clearly unconvinced, spurring another fit of giggling. She felt airy, little bubbles of laughter rising up and bursting from her lips. The pain in her shoulder could almost be ignored when the warmth in her chest was so strong. Camille and Linus glanced at each other like they both understood something and smiled.

As Cameron emerged from the bedroom, his gaze darted over his friends, resting on Kirsten- the blushing, giggling mess that she was. A softness filled his eyes, lips creeping up into a grin.

Camille glanced between them.

“Okay, enough cosmic romance.” she muttered. Then her face hardened- serious, “We need to talk.”

Her words carried a heavier weight than what was spoken aloud. Linus stepped closer so that their shoulders were touching, like he was rallying to her defense. Cameron’s brows knitted together. He searched their eyes and saw only tension and anxiety.

“Alright,” he said, knowing nothing really was.

Taking a seat back on the couch, he kept his gaze on Kirsten. He was careful not to touch her, fearing that he’d pushed too far.

She still tasted like sweets, still caused his pulse to race. That’s where the similarities stopped. Their first kiss had been a storm of confusion. Who was this Amazonian blonde with copper eyes and an attitude that could kill? Why did the feeling of her hand against his cheek make him shiver? How did he know – standing there in the lab, her body cradled in his arms – that his life would never be the same?

This kiss was the answer. It was perfect. The rightness of it filled his chest, sang in his bones, made him feel whole.

But did she feel the same?

He was almost afraid to know, but he met her eyes all the same. Kirsten stared back at him. Her eyes held none of the tension or reserve that Camille and Linus were showing. Hers were striking, like she was thinking clearly for the first time ever.  

She reached out her hand and Cameron took it, surprised by the force of her grip – as if they were adrift at sea and this was all they could do to stay together. He pulled her to him and met her halfway in the middle of the sofa, feeling foolish for not doing it before. Their bodies fit together like they’d been cut from the same stone. Cameron slid his arm around her back and Kirsten held his hand in her lap. Her fingers danced over his knuckles as if to write out her name and make him hers.

With new found strength, Kirsten breathed deep and said, “Me first.”

0o0o0o0

Camille’s face solidified in an awkward expression, one where she was clearly horrified but trying not to show it.

“I can’t believe they stitched you when you were a kid.”

Linus, who’d simply looked stunned the entire time, suddenly launched himself out of the arm chair and began to pace.

“A child would be the worst possible candidate for a stitcher! Their brains aren’t even fully developed. There’s no way Kirsten would have been strong enough.”

He froze and looked to his fellow man of science for assurance. Cameron’s jaw was set in a hard line, eyes like shards of glass. He already knew.

“But it wasn’t really a stitch.” Kirsten said, leaning forward, “My father only said ‘prepare for neuro-synchronization’. _Plus_ , he never called for life-si or sub-bio.”

Linus nodded slowly and continued to pace.

“Well I suppose that makes sense.”

Camille raised an eyebrow, “It does?”

“Yeah,” his voice rose a bit, unable to hide his pride in knowing something she didn’t, “we coined the term stitching after we successfully interlocked a living person’s consciousness with a corpse’s synapses.”

He waited for Cameron to jump in and deflated a little when he didn’t. His gaze was locked on the back of Kirsten’s head.

Linus continued, “Alex works exclusively with the samples and, for the most part, Chelsea does, too. It’d be more risky to stitch without her but we could do it.” Looking up at the ceiling, he quickly added, “Sorry, Chels.”

Camille narrowed her eyes, “So you’re saying if Kirsten’s parents were stitching her into her own memories, they could do it without life-si or sub-bio?”

“Again, it’s not _really_ stitching, but you’ve got the idea.”

She reached out and patted his arm, “Honey, let’s not make this any more confusing than it already is.”

He rolled his eyes, gaze landing on Cameron, still tense, still staring at Kirsten.  

“Are you okay?” Linus asked tentatively.

Kirsten swiveled her head, blonde hair splaying over her shoulders. She swallowed, trying to keep herself for hyperventilating. Cameron met her eyes, guilty shadows clouding the green she loved so much.

“You told me it was impossible to stitch into a living person.”

It was a quiet accusation, the negation of a lie.

“It is.”

He dropped his gaze to their hands, still resting in her lap. Camille tugged on Linus’ sleeve, seeking answers, but he waved her off, feeling just about as lost as she did. Kirsten let go of Cameron’s hand and touched his shoulder.

“What?” she asked like she was afraid of the answer.

Met by silence, she shifted on the couch so that she was fully facing him. Her hand found its way to the center of his chest, just above his scar. Like pressing a trigger, Cameron’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto hers.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He stared at her a moment longer and she isn’t sure what he saw. Then he sighed, pulled her hand off of his chest, and stood up.

“It’s a bit of a long story.”

0o0o0o0

“Hello, again, Doctor.”

Cameron whipped his head toward the lab entrance, nearly dropping the stack of papers in his hands. The woman in the doorway had an intimidating grace about her, like she could break every bone in your body without letting one hair fall out of place.

“Oh no.” Dr. Mance muttered before pushing past Cameron and boasting, “Ms. Baptiste! Lovely to see you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He said the word like it was the exact opposite of what he was feeling. Cameron set the enormous stack of papers on the table and turned back toward the pair with an eyebrow raised. To his surprise, Ms. Baptiste was looking at him – and not in the patronizing or disapproving way like he was used to.

Her head was cocked ever so slightly to the side in a cat-like manner and even from his distance, Cameron could see the curios glint in her eye. It was weird.

She blinked and finally turned to Dr. Mance, “Is there some place private that we can speak?”

Cameron saw the muscles in Mance’s shoulders stiffen and his ears perk up in what was probably a very forced- and very off putting- smile.

“Of course.” he spun around, “Cameron! When you’re finished organizing those records you can take care these.”

Mance waved to the pile of papers on his desk that was – though Cameron didn’t think it was physically possible – larger than the one he already had. Cameron pressed his lips together in a colorless line and nodded stiffly- in a way that he hoped conveyed the message of, “You are the worst mentor ever and I cannot wait to staple my doctorate to your fat forehead”.

Mance led Ms. Baptiste through the maze of desks and work tables, each home to its own clutter of papers and equipment. His office was in the back of the laboratory, glass walls made opaque by permanently drawn curtains. The door closed behind them with an audible _click_.

Cameron sighed deeply, looking upon the files before him with contempt. This was not what he signed up for, organizing discoveries made by _other_ neuroscientists. He was supposed to be out there making a difference. Making the world a better place. Making _anything_ other than tidy piles to be put neatly in a filing cabinet.

He ran a hand through his hair, temptation gnawing at the back of his mind. It was Sunday – which meant something to other people – so the lab was virtually empty save the Doc, Ms. Baptiste and himself. The dual headed stereomicroscopes would be open, for a change- a chance to practice some _actual_ neuroscience. Cam stood there a moment longer, but it wasn’t a very intense debate.

He moved slowly through the lab, already going through the necessary prep work in his head.

“Damn it, Baptiste! I’m tired of having this conversation.”

He stopped dead, eyes creeping toward the office door.

“No more than I am, Phillip.” her voice was low and thick with irritation, “But I need a serious answer from you.”

“I’ll give you one as soon as you ask a serious question!”

Cameron found his ear pressed against the door before he really knew what he was doing.

Mance scoffed, “ _View another person’s memories._ If this is your version of a joke-“

“It’s not.” Baptiste hissed, “It _is_ an interest of national security, so if you would kindly stop wasting my time and start being useful I _may_ be inclined to let you keep your job.”

Cam had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from laughing out loud. There was the sound of shifting feet, then Mance sighed.

“It’s not possible.”

Cameron may have been imagining things, but he’s sure he heard a growl. He fought the urge to drum his fingertips against the wood, feeling restless and antsy. The click of heels was growing louder.

“Very well, Doctor.” Ms. Baptiste’s voice came from just the other side of the door, “Let’s see what your grad student has to say.”

The moment before your life changes passes like any other. There’s no way for you to dwell on the radical new future suddenly laid out before you. There’s no second guessing, no turning back.

One moment, Cameron was eavesdropping. The next, he was on his hands and knees, staring up into endless brown eyes.

“Care to lend an ear, Mr…?” she trailed off.

Cameron’s mouth opened and closed like a beached sea creature.  He risked a look at Dr. Mance, who was fuming.

After a lot of stuttering, he finally managed, “Goodkin. C-Cameron Goodkin.”

“Maggie Baptiste, NSA.” she said, “Mr. Goodkin, what do you know about memory?”

He raised an eyebrow and picked himself up off the floor. Was this a trick question?

“Considering that my senior thesis was on the prefrontal lobe, I’d say a good bit.”

She nodded, “Very well. What would you say if I told you there was technology available that allowed us to access human memory?”

He glanced between his mentor and Ms. Baptiste. Knowing that they were hanging onto his every word was a strange feeling.

“I’d say so what?”

That clearly had not been the anticipated response. Mance put his head in his hands, most likely thinking of how to make Cameron’s life complete hell after this was over. Maggie nodded in… approval? Respect?

“Go on.” she said.

“The brain is a hub for bioelectricity. Tapping into that current isn’t necessarily impossible, but once you’re in, there’s nowhere for the memories to go.”

Mance shook his hand violently, “As I said, it’s impossible to view the memories of another person.”

Maggie whipped her head around so fast, Cam thought he heard a crack. Mance shrunk back to where he’d been leaning against the wall.

Turning back, she went on, “What my agency is proposing is inserting another person’s consciousness into someone else’s synapses.”

Cameron lips parted, awestruck.

“One person to navigate the synapses and another to interpret the memories.” he said, feeling feverish with excitement.

Again, she nodded, the corners of her lips turning up ever so slightly. Cameron didn’t fight the smile that had spread over his face. _This_ is the kind of thing he signed up for.

“This technology actually exists?” he asked cautiously- really hoping this wasn’t going to turn out to be one of those “too good to be true” moments.

Maggie worked her jaw, “It’s in development. We’ve recently gone through a reorganization of staff and the focus of the agency is evolving with it.”

Cameron shook his head like that made sense- because it did- but there was something dark creeping into his subconscious. He would have asked what that original focus was, but he had a sinking suspicion that he wasn’t supposed to know- maybe he didn’t want to know.

He must have zoned out because the sound of Ms. Baptiste clearing her throat brought the room back into focus. She looked very pleased.

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Mance.” she said without facing him.

She stepped to move around Cameron, but leaned in close to his ear.

“I’d figure this goes without saying.” she said in a hushed tone that made him shiver, “If you tell anyone about this conversation, I _will_ know and I _will_ terminate you.”

He nearly choked on saliva as he tried to swallow. That seemed to amuse her just as much as sticking it to Mance.

She wove back through the work tables toward the lab exit, the metallic click of her heels making him think of a countdown. Just before she reached the door, she turned back and met Cameron’s eyes.

“We’ll be in touch, Mr. Goodkin.”


	17. Safety in Numbers and Pancakes

 

The silence in the apartment was still and sickening. Cameron felt nauseated by the blood pounding in his ears, anticipation twisting his stomach into a mangled knot. Kirsten was staring- just _staring_ at him. He had no idea what he’d been expecting- anger, betrayal, confusion, fear- but the vacancy in her eyes worried him more than any of that.

Camille and Linus had given him their full attention. Their scrutiny was burning holes into his skin, but he refused to look away from Kirsten- not until she gave him _some_ kind of sign.

“Wait,” Camille spoke up, sounding like she was under anesthesia, “so when did corpses come into the picture?”

Kirsten turned her gaze toward her roommate without ever giving him a glimmer of feedback and Cameron felt something deep inside his chest crumble.

“About,” he cleared his throat- it felt like his lungs had turned to ash, “about a year and a half after that, when Linus joined the program.”

Linus gave a nod but nothing more. On any other day, he would have taken credit form coming up with the suave term “stitching”. On any other day, Cameron would have rolled his eyes and reminded his colleague that it wasn’t his idea. Neither of them bothered- because today was not any other day.

Kirsten’s breathing was measured and everyone could tell she was working very hard to keep it that way. She must have been able to feel the focus of the group shift to her, because she lifted her eyes and slowly shook her head. Cameron felt weak. He considered dropping to his knees, wrapping his arms around her midsection, and burying his face in her shirt as he begged for her forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry, Kirsten.” The apology tumbled out of him, “I never thought anything of it until now and I _never_ imagined it would have anything to do with you and-“

“Cam,” she silenced him by standing, eyes finally connecting, “It’s alright. It’s just… a lot to process.”

She snapped her mouth shut, like she was afraid of saying anymore. Her fist was trembling, knuckles turning the color of bone. Had they been alone, Cameron would have encircled her in his arms and murmured what comfort he could offer into her hair. Instead he extended his hand, tracing his fingers along her skin until she relaxed and let him intertwine their fingers. The tension around them seemed to loosen just a bit.

Camille looked down at her feet. She wanted to faze through the floor and leave them there- alone and together. She wanted to take all of the weight off of Kirsten’s shoulders so that her roommate could finally let herself be happy. She didn’t want the elephant in the room to squash out what they had. Linus nudged her.

“You want me to?” he said so quietly she barely heard him.

She shook her head and cleared her throat, “I’m just going to come out and say what we’re all thinking. What the hell was the agency doing before it became Stitchers?”

“And what did it have to do with me?” Kirsten added.

That question stirred fear in Cameron’s stomach. Every answer he could think of was macabre and haunting. He squeezed her hand, a silent promise to keep her safe.

Uncomfortable silence settled over them, biting at their skin like insects. Camille looked over her team mates, the four of them standing in a circle like they were taking part in some strange ritual.

Hesitantly, she said, “Do you think Black Berry knew?”

Kirsten tensed at the mention of her attacker. She had trouble saying the word aloud- hell even thinking about it made her shudder. Her _attacker_.

“What do you mean?” she managed.

Camille turned her head and silently passed the baton to Linus, who crossed his arms over his chest and adjusted his stance.

“This chick obviously has some sort of vendetta against Stitchers.” he said, “Maybe that’s the piece we’re missing.”

“This woman is smart.” Camille said, the word carrying its own sense of danger, “Fake records. Evading detection. _And_ she has some connection to the program- a connection that possibly dates back to before any of us even thought stitching was possible.”

Following her train of thought, Kirsten said, “You think whatever Maggie-“ she blinked rapidly and corrected herself, “You think whatever the agency was doing before stitching corpses… _that’s_ related to her motive.”

Camille shrugged and admitted, “I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

Kirsten felt Cameron’s fingers twitch and turned her eyes back to him. He was biting the inside of his cheek, eyes practically neon.

“Cam, what are you thinking?” she said, picturing a glowing lightbulb above his head.

He waited a heartbeat before meeting her eyes, carefully appraising his words, “What did Marta tell you, the night she came to your house?”

She furrowed her brows at him, knowing they’d already discussed this, then felt silly when she realized why he’d asked.

_Just because you tell Cameron everything doesn’t mean anyone else has any idea what you’re talking about._

Facing Camille and Linus, she went through the events of the evening. The paranoia. The anger. The conviction that there was something very, _very_ wrong with the Stitchers program.

She didn’t mention how Marta had held Cameron at gunpoint. Just like in a stitch, she relived all the sensations of that awful moment- fear wrapping around her chest and crushing the air out of her lungs. She remembered how he shielded her and pressed his face into her back. Neither of them ever talked about how that spot became damp with tears while she remained frozen- too overwhelmed with feeling to move.

Shaken by the memory- but not wanting to show it- Kirsten wrapped her arm around Cameron’s midsection and leaned against him. He responded by weaving his arm down her back and resting his hand on her hip, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Neither of their friends reacted, like they’d already become accustomed to the pair’s PDA.

“What does that mean?” Linus questioned, “ _You still think you’re solving murders?_ ”

“It means,” Camille answered, eyes ablaze, “Marta knew about whatever shifty business was going on before Stitchers and so does Black Berry. Whatever this bigger something is, our assassin friend isn’t a fan and is going after our team to make sure that it doesn’t happen.”

As her teammates stared at her, Camille felt her confidence dwindle, “Well it makes sense.”

Cameron nodded, running his thumb over the fabric of Kirsten’s shirt, “So we’ve got a _possible_ motive.” he didn’t sound very convinced, “What now?”

Linus opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a low, vile grumbling. Kirsten pressed her lips together and shut her eyes, really, _really_ wishing she could evaporate into the air. She popped one eye open and saw three blank faces looking her up and down.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Camille made a time-out signal with her hands, “Pause in Operation Wildfire. Was that your _stomach_?”

Kirsten shrugged sheepishly, “I mean, I’ve been feeding through a tube for the last eight days, so… yeah.”

Linus made a face, “Ew.”

Cameron chuckled and planted a kiss into her hair, “Alright, take five, team. We all deserve a nice homemade breakfast.”

He made his way to the kitchen and without looking up said, “Yes, Camille, I can make pancakes.”

The brunette clicked her mouth shut and smiled, giving the air a tiny fist pump. She fell back into the arm chair. Her body sagged into the cushions like all of her muscles were liquid. She pressed her palms against her eyes. Linus moved behind the chair, folding his arms on its back and giving her an upside-down smirk.

Kirsten tuned out their conversation, floating into the kitchen and watching Cameron pull an array of supplies out of cabinets. It took him a few moments to realize she was standing there.

“What’s up, Stretch?” he said, his eyebrows creeping upward.

“I want to help.”

His head jerked back like he was completely blindsided. He scrutinized her from head to toe- like he’d find some reason to believe she’d been abducted by aliens.

Kirsten narrowed her eyes, “I’m not trying to impress you with some fancy French dish this time, okay? I can handle pancakes.”

Cameron grimaced at the memory of that dinner. The blonde glared at him like she was daring him to refuse her.

“If you insist, Madame.” he handed her the spatula, “I’ll cut up some fruit.”

“Parfait.” she mused in a flawless accent.

They began to work, moving around each other like a well-orchestrated dance- only breaking character every so often to steal a glance and blush when their eyes met. Feeling bold, Cameron reached over her and plucked a fresh pancake off of the plate, popping it in his mouth quickly before turning back to the cutting board. She poked him with the spatula and watched his shoulders bounce in silent laughter.

_What the hell am I doing?_

Kirsten looked over her shoulder as Camille and Linus began to set the table. He must have said something crude because Camille smacked his wrist with a spoon, only making his grin widen.

_Maybe I’ve slipped into another reality. One where I wake up in Cameron’s bed every morning- I even call it our bed. Linus and Camille come over for breakfast all the time because they’re together. We’re all together and happy and safe._

The idea seemed so impossible yet so familiar, like deep down that’s all she really wanted.

Cameron’s voice pushed through the fantasy- that and his hand waving in front of her face, “Hello, Rachel Ray? Your flapjacks are burning.”

“Hm?” Kirsten murmured, turning back to the stove, “Oh, crap!”

There was a hockey puck sizzling in the center of the pan. Kirsten cringed, setting the blackened pancake onto her plate, and tried not to think about how Cameron would probably never trust her to cook again.

“I’ll eat that one.” she sighed.

Cameron laughed, “No need to torture yourself, cherie. Just throw it out.”

“That seems wasteful. Maybe you could use it as a paper weight. Or a door stop.”  

He rolled his eyes but it didn’t defeat his smile. Before Kirsten could even attempt to carry anything on her own, Linus swooped in and took the plates from her. She would have argued, but pain began to spread over her shoulder like a slowly burning fire. Her muscles went rigid and she bit her lip to keep herself quiet. It didn’t matter because Cameron was in front of her instantly, looking over her like he’d been waiting for this to happen.

“Is it starting to hurt again?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” she said- cursing herself mentally for letting her voice crack.

Cameron glanced at the wall clock and nodded, “It’s about time. The pills are-“

“In the cabinet above the sink?”

He blinked absently before a smile crept over his face, “Correct.”

Despite the increasing sting in her muscles, Kirsten managed a smirk.

“I know my way around here.” she lulled, giving him a wink and side stepping around him.

As she progressed toward the bathroom, the wide stare of her partner burned into the back of her head. Her heart began to race, her fingers were trembling, and she barely made it to the bathroom before she collapsed against the back of the door. Solid panic dropped in her stomach.

_What the hell?_

If anyone was looking at her right now, they would think she was having a stroke.

_I seriously just winked at him. What the actual hell is wrong with me?_

Ed and Megan were dead. Their graves sat atop an endless, black abyss of deception and secrets that Kirsten couldn’t even begin to understand. Every time she rounded a corner, her heart sputtered just a bit, expecting to see grey eyes staring back at her. Nothing warranted such… _silly_ behavior. Nothing was right; nothing felt safe.

_Except he kissed me. Except he loves me._

Kirsten couldn’t remember what it felt like to be loved, despite what Maggie had told her about her mother. She wondered if it felt different- a mother’s love- compared to the love of your best friend. No, that was wrong. Kirsten knew what that was like. Camille loved her. It had taken awhile for the blonde to realize it, since she was only really familiar with the textbook giveaways of romantic love. The nights Camille had made her get some dinner when she would have gone without, the attempts to break her out of her shell, the teasing and inside jokes. Camille loved her, and so did Linus.

Cameron’s love was different. It was similar, but amplified- his concern, his attention, his _understanding_ of her. Everything felt heightened when she was with him.

 _This is what it feels like to be loved_.

A chill ran down her back, liked she’d crystallized. Everything was sharp and clear. She was loved, and she loved them in return. The abyss didn’t seem so daunting anymore, knowing she didn’t have to face it alone.

“Darling?” Cameron’s voice was tight, like he didn’t want his concern to show, “Are you doing alright in there?”

Kirsten exhaled, a smile ghosting her lips, “Yes, dear.”

Unfolding herself slowly, she stood up and pushed the sliding mirror back to reveal the medicine cabinet. Holding the bottle of milky blue pills in her hand, she was suddenly overcome with biting irritation and it took her a moment to realize why.

She let out a groan and trudged back into the kitchen. Linus and Camille were already sitting down at the fully set table. Cameron’s eyes locked onto her immediately and he was across the apartment in two silent bounds.

“All good?” he sounded a little afraid, no doubt noticing the hard crease between her eyebrows.

Without a word, she shoved the pill bottle toward him. He fumbled with it, then glanced back and forth like he was missing something. Another moment of staring and then his eyes brightened playfully.

“Sorry.” he tried to sound sympathetic, popping the cap off of the bottle and handing her a single capsule.

She swallowed it dry and returned the bottle to the bathroom cabinet. Finally taking her seat, Kirsten narrowed her eyes as they searched the table.

“You forgot the-“

“Chocolate hazelnut spread?” Cameron’s grin was devious as he set the jar in the center of the table, “This one is for the rest of us. And _this_ …” he produced a second jar from behind his back, smile widening as she went slack-jawed, “is all for you.”

Kirsten was seriously debating kissing him again when Camille rolled her eyes and said, “You’re spoiling her.”

“And?” Cameron took his seat across from the blonde.

Kirsten leaned in on her elbow, “Don’t let him fool you. This is also so that he doesn’t have to worry about me double dipping since that’s _apparently_ such an issue.”

“That,” he pointed an accusing finger at her, hovering just above her nose, “and you’d finish half the jar in one sitting.”

“I have never done that!”

“You easily could.”

Camille groaned, “Oh my God, we get it! You guys are adorable, now please stop before I lose my appetite.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In complete honesty, I have been wanted to write (what I dub) “The Pancake Scene” for a while so I am very happy right now. As always I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.


	18. A Kingdom on Fire

“Alright,” Camille strutted into the center of the living room, poised in a way that demanded attention, “back to business, people.”

Kirsten curled up on the corner of the couch. Cameron and Linus had refused to let her help clean up, something she would be sure to hold against them later.

“Right, back to… what did you call it?” she tapped her chin, mockery thick in her tone, “Operation Wildfire?”

“It’s poetic and awesome and you love it.”

The blonde shrugged. She failed to see how it related to their present situation. It was very Camille – random and slightly badass.

“I may sort of love it.” she offered her roommate a sly smirk.

Camille beamed as their male companions entered the room, each casting her their own perplexed expression.

“Yeah, can we talk about how you even came up with that name?” Cameron asked, slipping comfortably beside Kirsten, who carefully adjusted her position so that she could lean into him without putting weight on her shoulder.

Linus flopped into the armchair, “Dude, look at that face.” he gestured to her toothy smile, “Just let her have this one.”

The brunette raised an eyebrow to close the argument and Cameron sighed.

“Operation Wildfire it is.” he tried to sound annoyed, but the others could tell it was already growing on him.

It felt like there was a solidarity between them, now. They had a name, they had a mission, and they had each other. Kirsten had confessed about lying to Maggie and Fisher, how she’d faked the story of some all-important envelope for the sake of protecting the book Ed had left behind. Those secrets were a weight she’d become so used to carrying, she didn’t realize how much it hurt her until she let it go. Suddenly she could stand straight and breathe again.

“This ultra-ray scanner thing is in Fisher’s office, right?” Linus rubbed his chin methodically, “How are we going to get him to let us use it without telling Maggie?”

“It’s called an ultraviolet magnetic counterfeit scanner.” Kirsten explained, earning an eye roll from Linus.

Camille crossed her arms over her chest, “Can we just call it the scanner to save time?” Kirsten nodded, “Cool. So why not just ask Fishy to keep it on the down low?”

“You _actually_ think that’s going to work?”

There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, but it quickly sobered.

“Fisher wants answers just as badly as we do.” Camille said, Kirsten’s eyebrow quirking with disbelief, “He’ll help us if we ask. I know it.”

Everyone looked at something other than her. Linus stared at the floor, Kirsten stared out the window, and Cameron stared at her hand resting atop his knee. The controversy in their faces was obvious – torn between wanting to trust her and not trusting anyone. Camille thought perhaps she was being naïve, but only for a moment.

“He’s not some marionette with no mind of his own!” she threw her hands up, reaching the end of her fuse, “He believes in doing the right thing, above all else, and helping us _is_ the right thing. Do you seriously think _that little_ of him?”

Her pulse was wild in her ears and she again folded her arms over her chest, fearing that they would start shaking. Her teammates gaped at her with blanched expressions. Camille gritted her teeth and desperately wanted to storm out of the apartment with a satisfying _slam_ of the door.

Linus placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. She didn’t look at him, silently hoping that her fury was hot enough to burn.

“Camille’s right.” he said gently, and it was as if someone had deprived her fire of oxygen.

She waited, speechless, and he continued, “Fisher’s always had our backs.” he paused until Kirsten finally met his gaze, “We don’t have to tell him everything, but we can trust him with this. We have to.”

As rapidly as she’d been ignited, Camille felt chills sweep over her entire body. She risked a glance in Linus’ direction. The unconditional faith in his eyes- in _her_ \- made her throat run dry.

Kirsten’s hand that was resting on Cameron’s knee knotted into a fist. He took in her face – the stiff set of her jaw, the displeased angle of her brow, the cold, metallic look in her eyes. This was the look that Cameron had cataloged as the “Kirsten coming to terms with something she’s not happy about” face.

Keeping his movements slight, so as not to pull their two colleagues – who were still staring at each other – out of love land, Cameron traced his fingers down Kirsten’s arm. He hesitated at her wrist, waiting for her to let him in. After drawing a few encouraging circles, Kirsten loosened her grip and allowed him to web their fingers together. She melted deeper into his side, like giving up this fight was physically exhausting.

0o0o0o0

“How is she?” the detective demanded before they’d even shut the door.

He rose from his chair but remained behind his desk, fixing the men with a fierce amber glare. Linus and Cameron stood shoulder to shoulder, hands behind their back like proper private school children.

“She’s doing alright.” Cameron replied, voice rising an octave on the last syllable.

“Is the medication working?” he pressed, “Any bleeding?”

“It’s doing its job. And I’ve managed to keep her in one place long enough to avoid that problem.”

“Any fatigue?”

The scientists looked at one another. All three team members had asked her if she’d wanted to lie down for a bit. Her responses were as to be expected, sarcastic and threatening.

“A bit, yes.” Cameron said.

“How’d she sleep last night? Was she waking up a lot or was it-“

Linus half-laughed, half-sighed, “Fisher.”

The detective raised his shoulders defensively, “I’m asking!”

Cameron shook his head. Papa Bear had nothing on Daddy Fisher.

“Okay, _fine_.” he said, exasperation dripping from his tone, “What do you guys want?”

Linus gasped and placed his hand over his heart, “Fisher, I’m surprised at you. Is it so hard to believe that we just wanted to have some bro-time with our best pal?” when he was silent, Linus continued, “We need to borrow your ultra-scanner thingy.”

“My what?”

Cameron rolled his eyes, “He means your ultraviolet magnetic counterfeit scanner.”

Fisher’s eyebrow quirked, glancing between the two of them. Very slowly, he moved around his desk so that he was directly in front of them. He braced his hands behind him and leaned against the table. Even in a slouch, he towered over them.

“And why do you need that?”

“Possible lead on Black Berry.”

Fisher’s other eyebrow joined its twin at his hairline and he let out a disbelieving scoff, “You think?”

Cameron swallowed, “Well, we hope.” Then with a glance at Linus, as if waiting for a que, he spilled out, “There is no envelope. Kirsten made that whole thing up.”

Not giving Fisher time to process that sentence, Linus jumped in, “The person with Megan wasn’t a stranger. It was Ed. And he gave her this book.”

Cameron produced the encyclopedia from behind his back, offering a sheepish, nervous smile that matched Linus’. Fisher’s eyes grew wide, as if in an attempt to better take in all the information they’d just thrown at him. His lips formed the beginning of many sentences, but none were ever given sound. Again, he glanced between the scientists, then shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Damn it, Clark.”

0o0o0o0

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Camille muttered as May Lin lead them into the back room of the restaurant.

Kirsten only chuckled at the reference because of a Star Wars marathon once forced upon them by the “men of science”. Quickly pushing the thought aside, she mollified her face.

“I wanted to do this on my own.” she said as they waited for the elevator doors to open.

Camille chuckled, dryly. That hadn’t been a fun conversation from the beginning.

The team was ready to seek out Fisher when Kirsten said suddenly, “Drop me at the lab.”

They stared at her, waiting for context.

“I _need_ to talk to Maggie. Drop me at the lab on your way to the LAPD.”

“Um, like hell.” Cameron said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest, “You’re not going anywhere by yourself, remember?”

Kirsten shot him an electric glare, “Great, so you can be a target, too?”

They blinked at her like she’d shocked them. Camille had recovered the fastest.

“Alright, guys, chill out.” she held up her hands passively, “I’ll go with her to the lab while you guys hit Fishy up for the scanner.”

Linus questioned, “Why you?” at the same time Cameron yipped, “Why not me?”

Camille had already swiped the keys to Linus’ car and was gently pushing Kirsten toward the door.

“Less suspicious.” she said.

Linus made a face, “You two are almost always up to something.”

“ _Almost_.” She gestured between Cameron and Kirsten, “These two _are_ always up to something.”

The elevator chimed and the girls slid inside. Kirsten kept her eyes down, the harsh white light making her pulse rise.  Light like fire, filling her vision. Her head pounding. Her mother screaming.

“Hey, Kirsten,” Camille’s voice was gentle as she held her roommate’s arm, “you okay?”

Her heart beat violently against her ribs, reverberating through her whole skeleton.

“Yes.” she replied tersely.

Camille wasn’t buying it, they both knew, but she backed off. The doors slid open to a vacant lab. It made sense, with Kirsten not being able to stitch, that the staff had been granted a mini-holiday of sorts. It had been a gamble whether or not Maggie would even be here.

As they stepped out of the lift, Camille cast the blonde a nervous glance.

“What are you hoping to get out of this?” she whispered.

Kirsten hesitated, staring at the glass office doors. Hope? If she actually let herself, what did she hope to find? Images flashed through her mind in rapid succession. Ed and her mother in a torn photograph, telling her to remember. Her father’s silhouette climbing into a taxi and fading out of view. The auburn fur of a toy bear. Megan smiling at Ed, telling her jokes, playing the piano on lazy afternoons. The look in Ed’s eyes when he’d tell her she could do anything.

“I want to truth.”

0o0o0o0

Painfully awkward silence made every tick of the clock feel like the jab of a needle. Cameron and Linus sat with their heads down and tails between their legs as Fisher stared at them, eyes narrow with suspicion and displeasure. He’d relieved them of the book immediately and turned it over to the care of _professionals_. Now they were waiting for results.

“So,” he finally said, making them snap to attention, “where are Kirsten and Camille?”

Casting a quick look at his comrade, Linus offered with a shrug, “Interrogating Maggie.”

Fisher let out a bellowing laugh, but when neither of them elaborated, he deadpanned, “Wait, seriously?”

Cameron bit the inside of his cheek, wondering how much Fisher was allowed to know. He figured it was best to avoid the topic of Kirsten’s past all together.

“We know Black Berry has to have some connection to Stitchers.” he looked Fisher dead in the eyes, peridot clashing with amber.

The detective raised a questioning eyebrow before dropping both into a scowl. He stood straight, towering over where they sat, fists clenched at his sides.

“You think Maggie would do anything to hurt Kirsten?” his voice was dark matter, dense and ominous.

Cameron sighed, “No, but she’s the only higher up we have access to.”

“She’s close to Les Turner.” Linus blurted, eyes wide like it had been an accident.

Fisher unhinged his fists but didn’t sit back down, “You think Leslie Turner orchestrated an attack on his chief asset?”

It was Cameron’s turn to fist his hands so hard his knuckles bleached. With conscious effort, he managed to keep his face stoic against the burning anger overcoming his body.

_Kirsten is not an asset. She’s not a pawn or some play thing for Les- or anyone else- to use until they get bored._

Linus could see the murder in his friend’s eyes and spoke up, “No, we don’t. But how many people does he have out doing his dirty work that may have their own agendas?’

Fisher nodded, mentally tabling that theory for later, when a knock echoed off of his office door.

“Yeah,” he called, and in walked Ghadah, one of their youngest members on the force.

She held the encyclopedia to her chest, along with a stack of photos.

“I have your results, boss.” she said, casting curious glances at Linus and Cameron.

Fisher pushed past them and took the items from her hand.

“Thank you, Ghadah.” he offered a small smile, “And I’ve told you, you don’t have to call me boss.”

She smirked, “Whatever you say, boss.” and turned to leave.

As soon as the door was shut, Cameron and Linus bolted from their chairs and were peering around Fisher’s shoulder. He waved them off like nits and laid the photos out on his desk. The three of them stared, wide eyes taking in every detail.

“Does that mean anything to either of you?”

Linus and Cameron shook their heads. All the photos were of the same page. Underneath the text of the copyright, there was only one sentence glowing underneath the violet light.

_The king and queen departed from the castle, giving orders that no one was to go near it._


	19. Steel Eyes and Stone Walls

Kirsten felt the absence of life in the lab like smoke in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying not to let it bother her. Her gaze wandered around the room, mentally placing everyone where they belonged. Alex should have been on his tablet, fighting a smile and pretending not to hear Chelsea mutter to herself while she worked. Ayo would have double checked Kirsten’s last diagnostic so that when Cameron asked- as he was bound to do- she’d already have an answer, and Tim would be “running a systems scan” while eavesdropping on everyone’s conversations.

 _God_ , she missed them.

Swallowing hard, Kirsten turned to Camille.

“I shouldn’t be long.” she said and started toward Maggie’s office.

Camille made some baffled noise before latching onto Kirsten’s arm, forcing her to halt.

“Woah, woah,” she hissed, “you’re not going in there without backup.”

Kirsten slowly drew in a breath. It felt like there was a sink hole inside of her chest.

“I don’t want her to think I’m confiding in you.” she said, to which Camille scoffed.

Kirsten grasped her roommate’s hand tightly, leveling her with the most sincere look she could muster, “Camille, _please_. I know she’s already got Cameron on a tight leash for helping me. I don’t want her to suspect you, too.”

Camille’s eyes were clear and deep like a still body of water. It shocked Kirsten, slightly. These were the eyes of someone who’d made sacrifices, who’d lived through more than most people. Camille squeezed Kirsten’s hand back and titled her chin defiantly.

“She can do her worst. We’re in this together.”

Kirsten felt her heart swell to the point of bursting. For the tenth time that day, she asked herself what she’d done to deserve the friends she had. Before she could say anything, Camille threw her arms around the blonde, careful not to jar her shoulder.

“I know you’re not a hugger, but just go with it.”

Kirsten pressed her lips into a thin line, not sure what to say- not sure she _could_ say anything if she’d tried. Tentatively, she returned the gesture, hugging Camille’s lean frame to hers. The brunette was larger-than-life and hugging her felt the same way- like holding a galaxy in your arms.

“Only with certain people” Kirsten muttered into her thick hair.

“It’s part of the code, roomie.” Camille sighed, “We’ve got to protect each other.”

The word should have filled her with such warmth. She should have thought of Cameron’s arms, the way he doted on her in the lab, the way he always listened like she was the only thing that mattered. She should have thought of Camille’s surprisingly maternal side or Linus’ unquestionable loyalty. Instead, Kirsten’s blood ran cold, her entire body hardening to ice.

Ed had tried to protect her. Megan had shared that burden, kept her secrets hidden. Now they were dead. The silhouettes of their bodies lying lifeless on the ground burned in her mind. She imagined Cameron lying just as still, blood soaking his shirt, his eyes focused on nothing.  

“I’ve been so stupid.” she exhaled sharply.

She _wasn’t_ a hugger. She wasn’t a team player or a best friend or a lover. She was a curse, a death sentence to anyone who got too close.

Camille released her, ruby lips pulled into a smirk, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

Kirsten nodded and awkwardly cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the ball of guilt that had settled there. Her heart began to race but her mind brought the world into slow motion, allowing her a brief infinity to calculate her next move.

_The key to any slight-of-hand trick is distraction._

“Thanks, Camille.” she said, maintaining eye contact, “I really appreciate that.” 

Slowly, unnoticeably, Kirsten’s hand hovered over her pocket. She tapped the top button of her phone three times- long, short, long.

“You’re wel-“

Camille shut her mouth as a muffled ringtone hummed in the air, just as Kirsten had programmed it to do. She furrowed her brows, giving nothing away, and pulled her phone out.

“Cameron?” she said and pressed it to her ear, “Hang on, slow down. You did what?”

“What’s he saying?”

Kirsten placed her hand over the speaker, “He says Fisher found something.”

“That’s great. What is it?”

“What is it, Cam?” a pause, “What do you mean you can’t explain?”

She feigned a sigh of contempt, “Okay, oaky, Camille and I are on our way.”

Camille gawked at her as she slid the phone back into her pocket.

“ _Well_?”

Kirsten shrugged, “He wants us to meet him and Linus at the LAPD.”  

Camille narrowed her eyes, “That’s shady.”

Kirsten clenched her jaw, the voice inside her head giving a frustrated scream.

“Oh come on,” she insisted, “you know Cam is a terrible liar.”

_You, however, have no problem lying to your friends, do you?_

“Yeah,” Camille drawled, unconvinced, “but it’s still weird.”

Kirsten was already moving toward the elevator, “You’re telling me.”

“Wait, what about Maggie?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, “We’ll have to worry about her later. Cameron sounded urgent.”

Every word tasted like metal. Kirsten tried to swallow and ignore the uneasy look Camille was giving her. _Centuries_ went by before the elevator finally chimed open. Her lungs evaporated.

Kirsten took one step into the lift then hesitated. Her mind was analyzing every second, questions and doubts pulsing against her skull.

_Don’t do this. You need them. Don’t shut them out. Don’t do this._

Camille stepped into the elevator and Kirsten threw herself into overdrive, slamming the keypad and backtracking out of the lift. Her roommate was so stunned, she only managed a single, exclaimed, _pissed off_ syllable before the doors shut and she was gone.

Within the same heartbeat, Kirsten was storming up the ramp toward Maggie’s office. She would not let herself regret turning Camille away. She would not regret keeping her friends as far from danger as she could. She would not let anyone else die because of her.

When she threw the door open, Maggie looked at her in a way that felt extremely anticlimactic. She barely offered Kirsten a glance before returning her eyes to her computer.

“Kirsten, I’ve already made it explicitly clear that you are not stitching until you make a full recovery.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

 _That_ got her full attention. Raising her eyebrow coolly, Maggie gestured toward the arm chair facing her desk. Kirsten stared at it apprehensively, wanting to keep the high ground, but conceded. She sat- centering herself- and met Maggie’s eyes with determination.

“You told me I need to trust you.”

Maggie leaned forward ever so slightly.

 _Keep dreaming_ , she thought.

“I want to, but first I need answers.”

For a long moment- she counted six seconds in her head- Maggie just stared at her. Kirsten straightened her shoulders, ready for a fight, but there was no animosity in the woman’s eyes. They were soft, cradling a memory. It made Kirsten feel transparent.

Then- with what could not possibly have been a smile- Maggie said, “Let me see what I can do.”

0o0o0o0

Magritte’s memory was framed in faces. Her childhood was her mother’s bright eyes and rosy cheeks, her father’s stern eyebrows and lopsided smile.  Her darkest moments were the scornful looks of those who doubted her, told her what she wanted was impossible. Happier times were Ed’s sandy hair and the way Ben’s eyes crinkled when he laughed.

This girl’s face was a wild card, something she hadn’t expected and couldn’t stop thinking about. Monica Avery. Black Berry. None of the names felt right, but Maggie was sure she knew this girl. Her certainty only grew fiercer the longer she stared at the image on her computer. Something itched at the back of her mind, like those steal grey eyes could reach right through her.

Everywhere they turned was another dead end. Sweeping Megan’s office had turned up nothing, same as the apartment. Maggie wondered how she could feel so weighed down when she was so empty handed.

_Isn’t it better this way? The longer it takes to find the algorithm, the longer I have to find Daniel. The more time I have to stop Phase Three before it starts._

She rubbed her temple, trying to force the rising headache into submission.

_Only a fool would think they can keep Les Turner from what he wants._

Maggie felt like a rope in a tug-of-war. She couldn’t let Les get the algorithm, but she couldn’t sacrifice her life’s work to do it. She couldn’t break her promise to Ed, to _Jacqueline_ , but Kirsten was damn near _impossible_ \- endangering herself at every opportunity.

 _She’s not telling me something_ , Maggie thought, scowling at her computer screen.

She should have fought Turner more about stitching Megan Werth. Turner didn’t know Kirsten- what she was capable of, how close she’d been to the truth. Maggie was certain Kirsten had learned something in that stitch that she wasn’t letting on.

 _Because you’re so honest with her_.

“Quiet.” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.

She was trying. Trying to protect Kirsten from Les. Trying to protect her from this assailant. Trying to protect her from _herself_. Maggie was trying.

 _Not hard enough_.

Her exhale tumbled out of her and she buried her head in her hands. She felt her composure collapsing like a house of cards.

_“You really want to keep me safe?”_

“I do.” she whispered, “But I don’t know how.”

0o0o0o0

Maggie gritted her teeth as Jacqueline’s fingernails dug into her skin. She was trashing and spitting at her, trying to get to the tank, but Maggie knew she couldn’t let go.

“Jac,” Ed called, unable to leave his station, “Jac if you pull her out now she could lose brain function.” His usual nonchalance was destroyed.

Jacqueline didn’t seem to hear him, still screaming, “Daniel, stop! You’re killing her! _Stop_!”

Maggie risked a glance toward the center of the lab. Dan’s knuckles were bone white over the controls, his lips trembling. Kirsten’s tiny frame was rigid, back arched like a broken doll. Her screams- _dear God_ , her screams- were raw anguish.

An angry noise from her monitor pulled Maggie’s gaze away.

“Dan, the energy output is too much. We’re going to blow the whole system.”

“I’m almost at the end of the line.” he insisted.

The desperation clinging to that word- _almost_ \- churned her stomach.

“I’ve got it!” Dan howled, yanking the controls back into their stationary positions, “I’ve got it!”

Kirsten’s body crashed back into the water, her head lulling to the side. Relief- whether or not it was deserved- weakened Maggie’s hold and Jacqueline tore herself free.

“ _Krissy_!” she collapsed beside the tank, cupping her daughter’s cheek, “Baby, look at me. Krissy, look at Mommy.”

The child made some sort of noise, a thick stream of spittle running from her mouth. Blood had started to drip from her nose.

“Oh, God.” Jac wheezed, “ _Oh, God_.”

She immediately began dethatching the restraints and monitors holding Kirsten in the tank. Daniel made a move toward them.

“ _Get away from her_.” she screeched, “ _Don’t you fucking touch her._ ”

He halted, eyes so wide it must have hurt. Maggie’s gaze flickered to Ed. She wanted to reach for him, but she couldn’t move. Her blood was frozen.

“It’s okay, Baby.” Jacqueline murmured as she settled Kirsten in her arms, “Mommy’s got you. It’s okay.”

She rose to her feet, muscles taught and fierce. Daniel cowered under her stare.

“I’m getting her to a hospital.” she spat, already pushing the lab door open.

“Jac,” Daniel said, meekly, but she was gone.

0o0o0o0

“What are we going to do, Mags?” Ed breathed.

His head was on her shoulder, their hands entwined. He’d sunken to the floor one hour and twenty three minutes ago, when Jacqueline Stinger had been pronounced dead. They were waiting outside of Kirsten’s room, who was showing very little brain activity. Daniel was beside her, head buried in his arms, body racking with sobs.

 _How the hell did it go_ so _wrong?_

“We’ll figure it out.” her voice refused to waver, “I don’t know how, but we’ll figure it out.”

 _Just like we always do_.

Ed pressed further into her side, like he was trying to disappear, “She has no idea.”

“What?”

“She has no idea how extraordinary she is.” he said, stronger.

Maggie’s heart constricted, pulling her chest tighter, forcing the air out of her. This mess she’d created- Ed was too good for it. Kirsten was too good. Jac was…

“We’ll protect her.” she swallowed the doubt that was choking her, “No matter what, we’ll keep her safe.”

Ed made a small whimper of acknowledgment. She squeezed his hand and kissed his hair, willing him to believe it. She was glad he couldn’t see her face. It would have given her away.

0o0o0o0

The sound of footsteps outside her door made her head snap up, features automatically hardening. Her hands flew to her keyboard, revving up her monitor just in time for Kirsten to enter the room.

Maggie glanced at her briefly. She couldn’t honestly say she was surprised.

“Kirsten,” she said- disinterest with just a hint of venom, “I’ve already made it explicitly clear that you are not stitching until you make a full recovery.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Her heart stumbled before it kicked into overdrive, mind running through a dozen different ways this conversation could go. Despite the quickening of her pulse, her face betrayed nothing.

Raising her eyebrow with practiced ease, Maggie gestured for Kirsten to sit down. She hesitated before conceding, fixing Maggie with a stormy glare that was _so_ much like Jacqueline she couldn’t breathe. 

“You told me I need to trust you.” Kirsten said like it was a taunt.

 _Only if you want to live_ , Maggie thought bitterly.

“I want to, but first I need answers.”

Setting her jaw, Maggie studied Kirsten for what must have been the thousandth time. She’d grown into a fine woman, but so much of her was the same. The day everything went wrong, she’d walked into the lab with her chin up, eyes resolute. Jacqueline asked over and over again if she was up for this, and without hesitation she would say, “Absolutely,” emphasizing every syllable.

Some people were made of glass. Others cold as stone. Kirsten was rugged steel.

Maggie smiled- barely- and said, “Let me see what I can do.”


	20. The Stories Behind Your Eyes

Camille sighed as another penny hit the water with a loud _bloop_. She’d asked May Lin if she could throw all of the change from the tip jar into the fountain at the back of the restaurant. Despite the (totally justified) fear for her grandmother, the Jade Fog’s owner, May agreed.

Drumming her fingers against the opaque green tiles, Camille glanced at the wall clock for probably the tenth time in the last minute. Kirsten had been in the lab half an hour already. That either meant things were going well or it was a blood bath. There was no smoke billowing out of the elevator shaft, which calmed Camille’s nerves a little bit, but there were still plenty of sharp objects in the lab Maggie and Kirsten could use to kill each other.

The steady gurgling of the fountain was interrupted by upbeat K-POP and Camille practically wrenched her cell phone from her pocket.

“Linus, thank God.” she sighed, “I’m bored, save me.”

He laughed, “How can you be bored? You have a front row seat to the battle of the century.”

“Except not.” she growled, “Kirsten ditched me. She’s talking to Evil Step-Maggie by herself.”

There’s the sound of something clattering to the ground and heavy footsteps, then Cameron’s voice, “ _What?_ What do you mean she ditched you? Where is she?”

“Keep your pants on.” Camille rolled her eyes, “I’m waiting for her inside the restaurant. She said she didn’t want Maggie to see me helping her. She’s worried the higher-ups will start cracking down on us.”

Cameron sighed, “So she’s going to try and take all of the responsibility herself. Fantastic.” He sounded frustrated, but not really surprised. 

Fisher sat back in his office chair, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. Linus saw it and took his phone back from Cameron, switching it to speaker.

“What is it, Fish?” he said. 

Fisher blinked like he hadn’t expected to be noticed. Cameron and Linus leaned, eyes wide.

“It’s nothing,” he tried to wave them off, “just something Kirsten said to me a while ago that’s making sense, now.” When they continued to stare, Fisher elaborated, “Remember when I almost suffocated trying to bring you Dr. Barmul’s cure?”

“And Kirsten pulled you down through the elevator?” Cameron said.

“Yeah. I tried to get her to take the cure but she wouldn’t leave me. She said, ‘No one else is going to die protecting me’.”

Fisher watched Cameron carefully. His features twisted in confusion, a feeling Fisher grew very familiar with during his first years as a detective. The moment a trail leads you right back to the beginning, and you realize the answers were under your nose the entire time. Cameron’s jaw went slack, eyes wide.

“Ed?”

Fisher nodded, “I think what Kirsten did to Camille today is the beginning of something I’ve been anticipating for a long time.”  

“What’s that?” Cameron said, more on edge than Fisher had ever heard him.

He sighed, “My guess is that Kirsten’s blaming herself for Ed and Megan’s deaths, and she’s going to start pushing all of you away because of it.”

They all stood in silence for a moment, piecing together the story that had been laid out before them. It was a sad story. A little girl cursed to never experience happiness or love somehow found them on her own, but now she was too afraid to let herself feel it.

“So Kirsten thinks just being our friend is going to get us killed.” Linus said in a quiet voice, like he wished it was a question.

Cameron huffed, “That’s ridiculous… but absolutely something Kirsten would do.”

Camille didn’t need to be there to know he was running a hand through his hair, probably pacing the length of the room.

A chill shot down her spine and she covered her phone to hide the sharp gasp that escaped her.

_This is what you’ll become if you let him in. Constantly afraid of what will happen. Constantly afraid you’ll lose him._

Camille squeezed her eyes shut, feeling claustrophobic in her own skin. How dare her own personal bullshit make an appearance when there were far more important things to deal with.

“Goodkin,” she hissed, “you heard the Fisher. Your lady’s trying to shut us out.” _I’m the only one that gets to do that_ , “What do we do?”

It only took a heartbeat before Cameron answered, “The only thing we can do.”

0o0o0o0

 “You know Ed didn’t kill himself.”

“Yes.”

“You thought Megan’s death was connected.”

“Yes.”

“Then we were attacked.”

Maggie rolled her eyes like she was searching the room for the last of her patience, “Kirsten, where are you going with this?”

Kirsten sat a little straighter in her chair, crossing her arms. Why did she think Maggie would be more cooperative?

“Black Berry obviously has a vendetta against the Stitchers Program.”

“Obviously.”

She dug her fingernails into her sleeve, “But _why_?”

“Why do you think?”

Kirsten couldn’t control the irritated huff that escaped her lips. This quest for answers was feeling more and more like a parent/teacher conference.

“If someone wanted this technology for themselves,” she said, resisting the urge to fidget in her seat, “killing off the brains behind the operation doesn’t make any sense.”

“True.”

 _Woman, I swear if you don’t start giving me multisyllabic answers, I’m going to scream,_ Kirsten thought in a voice that sounded a lot like Camille’s.

“Black Berry doesn’t want to use the Stitchers technology for herself. She wants it _stopped_.”

Maggie’s eyebrow rose just a fraction, “Smart girl.”

“But why?” Kirsten pleaded, “We help people.”

Her lips curled as soon as the words left her mouth, the sour taste of a half-lie on her tongue. A few months ago, Kirsten wouldn’t have thought twice about it, she’d know it as a fact. That’s how she’d understood the world: facts and figures and patterns, clean-cut and predictable. Now there was this grey area, like a blind spot in her brain that didn’t know what to believe.

Her job was to help people. She wanted to _believe_ she helped people, but…

_They turned us into grave robbers._

“Some people are crazy.” Maggie said, as if she could see where Kirsten’s mind had gone, “Their reasoning doesn’t have to be sound.”

Kirsten felt the tension shoot through her muscles like ice water. She hated Marta being reduced to _some crazy person_. Sure, she’d leveled a gun at Cameron’s chest and Kirsten’s heart still jolted at the memory, but Marta hadn’t hit that low point on her own. Whatever Marta knew about Stitchers – about Maggie – had set her off.

“That,” Kirsten said icily, “or we aren’t the good guys, after all.”  

Maggie’s features honed into an impassive mask.

“Kirsten…” she warned.

“Am I wrong?”

“ _We_ are not the ones shooting people in parking lots.” Maggie seethed, “You tell me.”

Kirsten bit the inside of her cheek, a habit she was starting to pick up from Cameron. Getting Maggie pissed off was at least better than no response at all. Kirsten just needed to push the right buttons.

“Maggie, please give me something,” she said, “ _anything._ ”

Finally, Maggie broke her statue-like posture and slumped back in her chair. It was odd how such a small thing could make a person look so much more… human. Vulnerable.

“Like what?” she sighed.

Kirsten thought of the picture Ed had left her, the one telling her to remember. If it had come from anyone but him, the message would have seemed cruel, like telling an amputee to “walk it off.” How was she supposed to remember anything before that first stitch? Her entire family had let her sacrifice her own mind, and for what?

With a jolt of surprise, Kirsten realized that she was _angry._ Angry at four of them – her parents, Ed, and Maggie – for letting her go through with it. Angry that the purpose of this stupid experiment had been deemed more important than Kirsten’s safety.

The anger would have been manageable on its own, but the tightness in Kirsten’s chest came from something else. She didn’t know how to describe it, only knew that it _hurt._

Making a mental note to ask Cameron about it later, Kirsten put aside her emotions and made herself focus. There was some kind of disconnect between the family she thought she knew and the one her flashback had revealed to her. She needed to know which one to believe.

“Tell me about my parents.” she said, finally, “What were they like?”

Kirsten had been studying faces since she was a little girl. Big smile, wide eyes: happy. Raised eyebrow, pursed lips: confused. Flushed skin, furrowed brows: angry. Ed and Megan had drilled her every day, cheering when she got a perfect score, like knowing what those emotions looked like meant she could experience them herself.

The practice had given her a baseline; enough of an understanding so that she wasn’t _completely_ socially inept. Navigating actual relationships, though? That was a different story. Real people were way more complicated than a set of flash cards. It was their eyes, Kirsten had decided. Nothing in a person’s expression – good or bad – could be trusted if their eyes didn’t match. This was truer for Maggie Baptiste than anyone Kirsten had ever met. Even in her softer moments, there was something dark behind the woman’s eyes, something she didn’t want anyone else to see.

“Maggie,” Kirsten said, trying to peer through the darkness, “ _please_.”

Kirsten didn’t bother to count how long the silence between them stretched out. It didn’t matter. She’d wait as long as she needed to.

Eventually, Maggie’s gaze shifted, looking straight through Kirsten to another time and place.

“Lake Leah.”  

Kirsten blinked, not sure what she’d expected to hear, “What’s that?”

There was the faintest light behind Maggie’s eyes, “That’s where the story starts.”  

0o0o0o0

“Mr. Turner, Agent Okar is here to see you.”

“Send her in, Elizabeth.”

He answered without turning away from the floor-length windows covering the far wall of his office. They were his favorite thing about California: big windows to let in as much sunlight as possible. His mother’s apartment in Montreal had only had one, and the view wasn’t much. Here, people below were reduced to insects, while he walked alone in the sun.

When the door slid open, he willed himself to turn away, though Okar’s forced smile and wide, nervous eyes were a far less pleasurable sight.

“Mr. Turner,” she said, stiff, like a child afraid to jump in the deep end, “you’re looking well.”

“Spare me the pleasantries, Genet.” he sighed, already fed up with this conversation, “I want to hear about your progress. Gaging by the pitiful way you’re carrying yourself, I’m guessing that isn’t much.”

Okar sunk into the chair facing his desk, swallowing heavily.

“Using street camera footage, we were able to track the shooter back to an abandoned building in the industrial district. She was long gone by the time we got there, but we were able to get a DNA sample.”

Les nodded, “So it’s confirmed.”

“Yes, sir.”

He considered this for a moment, looking back out the window. In the reflection of the glass he could see Okar slacken, as if she were now safe from his scrutiny.

“Where is Emily now?” he demanded.

Okar stiffened and drew in a long breath, “We’re still working on – “

“You don’t know.”

Her voice was unsteady, “Sir, she’s obviously undergone facial reconstructive surgery since she was in our custody. She’s also dyed her hair, which makes it difficult to – “

“Oh forgive me,” Les all but growled, “I thought this was the NSA. Clearly I’ve overestimated you and your team.”

There was a flash in her eyes, and Les could tell she wanted to defend herself. The look in his eyes must have informed her that it was pointless. She averted her gaze.

Les rubbed at his temple and sighed, “Dare I even ask about Daniel Stinger?”

Surprisingly, Okar had the audacity to face him and admit her failure. It would have been commendable, if he hadn’t wanted to kill her.

“Get out.” he said.

“Sir, if I may – “

Les launched out of his chair, slamming his fist on the table, “ _Get out!_ Or the first test of Phase Three will be on you.”

Okar blanched, gave a curt nod, and nearly tripped over herself on her way out the door. Les stared at it for a few moments, thinking he could burn holes into the wood if he tried hard enough.

Begrudgingly, he had to admit that this would have been easier if he could have briefed Maggie Baptiste and involved her team. Engelson would have located Emily within a day.

Of course that would involve telling Maggie the truth about what happened to Emily, and that was not an option.

_That Emily had not, in fact, been left brain dead as a result of the experiment. Clinically insane, perhaps, but very much alive._

Les wasn’t terribly familiar with regret, but now he couldn’t help but wonder how much grief would have been saved if he’d just euthanized the girl when he’d had the chance.

It’s a short pondering. Les knew she was valuable; the only one to survive the initial testing.

_Well, I suppose Kirsten technically counts, too._

A smart man didn’t let a rarity like that go to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol remember Emily? I hope you do, because she’s definitely not going down without a fight. Anyhow, thank you for reading. Hopefully my next update will be much more timely.


	21. Can’t Protect Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fricking moly, this is a long chapter. I probably could have shortened it, but screw it, I didn’t want to.

Kirsten had to admit: of all the unhappy faces she expected to see upon exiting the lab, Fisher’s was not one of them. Even more surprising, no other member of the _keep Kirsten from doing dangerous things_ squad was with him. Suspicious.

“You know,” Kirsten said, gesturing back toward the elevator, “despite what I may have said earlier, I wasn’t actually planning on killing her.”

Fisher almost smiled, “Then you won’t mind if I sweep the lab for evidence.”

Kirsten shook her head, “Where’s Camille, and the guys? I figured she would have called them. I thought they’d be pissed.”

“She did. And they are.” Fisher sighed, but his smile was mirthful, “I managed to convince them not to haul you back to Cameron’s apartment and tie you to a chair.”

“Well, thanks for that.”

Fisher held her eyes a moment longer, still smiling, until his gaze dropped to her arm, nestled against her chest in its sling. His eyes grew distant, and she knew he wasn’t seeing her anymore. Wherever he was, the memory wasn’t pleasant.

Kirsten held her breath as sensation fiddled with her nerves. The desire to touch, to _comfort_ wasn’t unfamiliar. She’d felt inklings of it when Cameron first opened up to her – about Marta, about his parents, his childhood. As they grew closer, she found the words to articulate what she was feeling.

_I have to protect you. I need to keep you safe._

Engaging her protective side through touch had been interesting. Cameron, she’d learned, responded to gentle, coaxing gestures; Camille to playful nudging and quick – but sincere – embraces; and Linus to a firm grasp on the arm or shoulder, something steady and reassuring.

She didn’t know how to comfort Fisher, didn’t understand why she wanted to. She was grateful when the moment ended and he blinked the hazy look from his expression.

“Come on, I need to show you something.”

Kirsten hid the stutter of her pulse with a coy grin, “The plot thickens.”

Fisher was already heading toward the entrance, “Damn it, Clark, just follow me. Without the lip, please.”

Kirsten jogged to catch up with him, “Fine, I’ll follow. The lip is part of the deal, though.”

0o0o0o0

They were driving northbound out of the city, toward the suburbs, and that was all the information she could get out of him. He seemed relaxed enough, but Kirsten could tell he was waiting to bring something up. It put her on edge.

When they’d been on the highway for half an hour, Kirsten gave into her fatigue and rested her head against the car window. The drowsiness brought back memories she’d usually fight: Ed taking her to his parents’ house before they passed away, day trips to Long Beach with Megan and her wife, Lana (also dead).

_Oh my God_ , she thought, _I know more dead people than I do living._

Fisher drew in a long breath and Kirsten mentally readied herself for whatever can of worms he was deciding to open.

“You lied to Maggie about seeing a document in Megan Werth’s stitch.” he said, finally.

To her surprise, there was nothing hostile in his tone. She didn’t lift her head, but she could see him glance at her in the reflection of the side mirror.

“Look, Kirsten…” he trailed off, rubbing his knuckles methodically along his lips.

Kirsten could see why Camille had defended Fisher, promising he wasn’t another NSA drone. If she was being honest with herself, Kirsten didn’t see him that way. He was a good person, but…

“I don’t trust Maggie.” she said, frowning.

“I know.”

“But you do.”

Fisher considered his response before he spoke, “I think she’s a good person in a tough situation. I think her back’s against the wall and she’s doing what she can.”

Kirsten wasn’t satisfied. Fisher didn’t understand. He didn’t know what Maggie had helped do to her.

When they got off the highway, Fisher handed her a photograph from inside his chest pocket.

“This is what we got from the book Ed left with Megan. Any idea what it means?”

Kirsten ran her thumb across the picture, as if she could feel the pages in her hand.

_The king and queen departed from the castle, giving orders that no one was to go near it._

“It’s a line from Sleeping Beauty. It was my favorite story when I was a kid.”

“So Ed’s leaving you some kind of message?”

Kirsten grumbled, “Situation normal.”

She could listen through Ed’s tapes again, though beyond the map coordinates he’d given her, she was doubtful of finding anything else. Kirsten grimaced at the photograph. It felt like she had all the pieces of a puzzle, just not the picture to reference.

Tucking the photo into her pocket, she narrowed her eyes at Fisher, who was suddenly avoiding her gaze like the plague.

“Lake Leah,” she said, “ever heard of it?”

His silence and refusal to look at her was answer enough.

“It’s a town in southern Oregon. My parents lived there until I was three, when the NSA recruited them to work on what would become the Stitchers Program.” she glared at the side of his head, “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“What else do you know?”

Fisher bristled at her hard tone, but responded, “I know it was Ed Clark and your mom who were responsible for the breakthroughs in mind-mapping. Your father was more involved in the…” he waved his hand around, “tech stuff.”

Maggie had told her that much, and it matched what she’d seen in her flashback. Kirsten let out a breath, feeling like she was finally on solid ground. Maybe that was just because the car had stopped.

“Come on,” Fisher said, taking the keys out of the ignition, “we’re here.”

_Here_ was a strip of buildings taken straight out of a postcard. Old fashioned light posts lined both sides of the street, every store front shining brightly in the afternoon sun. The corner building they were parked in front of had large windows, accented by maroon tiling. Painted on the sign above the door was something in Arabic, and below that read _Rima’s Mediterranean Bakery._

Kirsten got out of the car and squinted at Fisher, “Who’s Rima?”

Fisher grinned, “My mother.”

0o0o0o0

Kirsten was _not_ a sentimental person, but even she couldn’t resist the bakery’s charm. The left wall was covered in photos of patrons and neighbors, all enjoying one of Rima’s treats. Kirsten smiled at a picture including Fisher. He was sitting on one of the stools along the window, face covered in something red and sticky. His smile was wider than Kirsten had ever seen it.

Mismatching tables and chairs sat along the other wall, all occupied. Some people acknowledged Fisher with a nod or a wave. One woman with a baby said something in Arabic and Fisher strode over to her without hesitation. Kirsten watched him speak with the mother, making faces at the baby in her arms. The scene was so warm and sweet, like one of the pastries in the display case, but she remained rooted to the floor.

She didn’t know Fisher was close to his mother, didn’t know he spoke Arabic, didn’t know he was the kind of person to make goofy faces at babies in public. Such incidental information, yet it felt like a lot. It felt like he was trusting her with a secret part of himself he purposefully didn’t bring into the lab. Was it a ploy? Did he just want her to open up to him in return?

Fisher ruffled the baby’s dark hair before coming back to her side.

“Sorry about that.” though he was grinning as he said it, “I haven’t seen Sabeen since she had her baby. That little cutie,” he inclined his head toward the baby, who was now waving happily at one of the other customers, “is Hassan.”

Kirsten gave a tight smile that wasn’t _completely_ forced. Fisher turned to the teenage girl behind the counter, who was wearing a maroon apron and scarf that matched the tiling outside. They spoke for a bit and she disappeared into the back room.

“What do you think?” Fisher asked quietly.

“It’s lovely.” she offered, then couldn’t contain her confusion, “Quincy Fisher is definitely not an Arab name.”

He shrugged, “Mom and Dad didn’t want me to feel out of place. We lived in an area where admitting you were Syrian was like putting a _kick me_ sign on your back.”

Some of her tension eased, softened by sadness. That feeling was back, the desire to comfort, but she fisted her hand at her side and ignored it.

A bellowing voice made her jump as a man in a wheelchair came out from behind the shop counter. His apron matched the girl’s, though it was covered in baking materials. Kirsten knew he was Fisher’s father immediately, sharing his son’s strong jaw and big ears. The expression on his face was so utterly _happy_ , Kirsten couldn’t look away from it.

He and Fisher spoke in a language that was definitely Arabic, though it sounded different from how Fisher had spoken to Sabeen and the cashier. Kirsten wasn’t sure _what_ had changed, but something was definitely off. 

Fisher leaned down and the men exchanged a kiss on each check and a long, tender hug. They continued speaking, Fisher gesturing to Kirsten for what she guessed was her introduction.

“Kirsten, this is my father, Sam. Dad, this is Kirsten.”

She waved awkwardly while Sam wheeled up in front of her and put his arms out. Kirsten’s heart lurched with panic, though she leaned in for a hug, anyway. He was strong, despite his appearance, and kissed Kirsten’s cheek as if she were family.

“You are Quincy’s friend from work.” he said brightly, “So nice to meet you.”

“Where’s Mom?” Fisher asked.

Sam’s face puckered like he’d eaten something sour, “At the market with your cousins getting ingredients. I am _always_ telling them, “If you notice we are low on something, you need to put it on the list _before_ we run out” but they never do. These children…” he tutted, “If I had shown this kind of carelessness working in _my_ father’s shop – “

“ _Dad,”_ Fisher chided, though his tone was fond.

Sam looked at Kirsten bashfully, “Of course, of course. Where are my manners? Sit, sit.” he gestured to the stools along the front window, “I’ll be out with some tea.”

He turned in his chair and said something to the girl in the first dialect Kirsten had heard. She took her seat beside Fisher.

“Are you and your father speaking a different dialect than the one Sabeen and that girl speak?”

Fisher’s eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading across his face, “Impressive. Most people wouldn’t notice a difference.”

Kirsten smirked and tapped a finger to her temple as a way of saying, _temporal dysplasia, duh._

Fisher chuckled, “My family speaks Levantine Arabic. It’s more common along the coast. Employees and customers come from all over, though, so Standard Arabic is easier.”

Kirsten nodded, turning in her stool to gaze out at the street. It still looked like a postcard, colors so vibrant they couldn’t be real. People buzzed about, talking and laughing and smiling with an ease Kirsten envied. It seemed simple, to be happy in this place that looked untouched by reality. But dreams all ended eventually.

“Fisher,” she said, not looking away, “what are we doing here?”

Before he could answer, Sam appeared with a trey in his lap. Fisher took it, offering Kirsten a cup of herbal tea. She felt rude sitting on a high stool, looking down at Sam in his chair, though he didn’t seem to mind. She’d expected the conversation to feel forced, but she quickly discovered Sam could talk circles around even Camille.

He told her about how his parents came to the states when he was a baby and how he met Fisher’s mother when her family arrived eighteen years later.

“You know in movies when the boy sees the love of his life for the first time and everything else in the scene fades out of focus?”

Kirsten thought about her first meeting with Cameron, saying his breath smelled like meat and him calling her Queen of the Estúpidos. She bit back a laugh.

“Yeah,” she said, “and the dramatic music swells up?”

“Yes!” Sam cried, “It was exactly like that.”

Fisher was blushing like mad but he didn’t make any move to stop Sam. Kirsten learned that they had been Rima’s Syrian Bakery when they first opened, but received so much harassment that they changed it shortly after.

“It’s one of the reasons I went into law enforcement,” Fisher said, “seeing the crap my family had to go through without any help from the authorities.”

“And now he’s _Mr. Big Important Detective_.” Sam said in a mocking voice that mimicked Fisher perfectly.

Kirsten did laugh at that. Sam seemed surprised by the sound, staring at her like she was something rare and beautiful.

“I have been so rude! Quincy, why didn’t you stop me? Tell me about yourself, dear.”

Kirsten froze mid-sip, losing her appetite for the tea instantly. This is normally when she would deadpan, explain her teary childhood and not care if she killed to mood. But Sam was so happy – happy to be with his son, happy to be talking with someone new, happy to be _alive_. How could she do that to him?

She saw Fisher tense out of the corner of her eye.

“My mother died when I was young, so I was raised by my father and his sister.” she was surprised when it didn’t feel like a total lie, “My dad worked in neuroscience and my aunt worked at an adoption agency.” she gave a kind of helpless smile, “They were both _huge_ nerds, so I got really into computers as a kid and just kind of turned that into my entire life.”

Sam nodded approvingly, “We may need your services, then.” he jerked his head in Fisher’s direction, “This monkey is supposed to understand technology, help us old people, but he’s useless.”

“Hey!” Fisher barked.

They went back and forth for a while, taking attention off of Kirsten, which she appreciated. Finally, Fisher collected their teacups on the tray and stood up.

“Sorry I can’t wait for Mom to get back.” he said.

Sam waved him off, “You’re busy, we understand.”

Fisher kissed his cheek and hugged him again, “I’ll call tomorrow night.”

“Oh wait!” Sam exclaimed, taking the tray and wheeling behind the front counter.

He said something to the girl in Standard Arabic and she went into the back room. 

“You’re going to love these.” Fisher said to Kirsten, “They were my favorite as a kid. Super addictive.”

He pulled out some cash from his wallet and Sam’s expression became incredulous.

“No! What’s my rule, Quincy?”

“Dad,” Fisher sighed, “I’m a grown man. Let me pay for my own damn cookies.”

“No.” Sam huffed and disappeared into the back.

Fisher rolled his eyes and stuffed the cash into the tip jar beside the register. After a moment, Sam appeared with a paper bag in his hands and gave it to Kirsten. Her eyes fluttered close, unable to help it as she inhaled the sweet scent.

“Barazek,” Sam beamed, “a Damascene specialty.”

“They smell _amazing._ ” Kirsten said, “Thank you.”

He gave her a little insistent gesture and she leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“So happy to meet you, Kirsten. Anytime you’re in town, stop by.” he swatted at Fisher’s hand, “Keep this one out of trouble for me.”

Both she and Fisher laughed at the irony.

Kirsten waited until they were back on the highway to try one of the cookies. It was nutty and sweet and crunchy, exactly as Fisher had said: addictive.

“Good?” he asked and Kirsten hummed through her mouthful of cookie.

He chuckled and the car fell into silence. Kirsten tapped her foot, then her fingers, played with the hem of her shirt, then gave into the question burning inside her chest.

“Okay, Fish, what was that about?” she said, “Why take me to meet your family?”

Fisher looked as if he hadn’t heard her, amber eyes gleaming in the afternoon light.

“I know you and the rest of the Scooby gang make fun of me for following the rules. I know it’s one of the reasons you don’t trust me.” he glanced at her without turning his head, “I wasn’t always like that. Believe it or not, I was young and stupid, once. I wasn’t always proud of my family and where we came from. I wanted to fit in, so when my friends offered me alcohol or a joint, I’d take it.”

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, like he had to physically prepare for the next part of his story.

“One night, my buddy said his girl was having a party a little ways outside of town. I lied to my parents so that they’d let me go.” he sighed, “We got trashed, for lack of a better word. Most of the night is still a blur, but I do remember stumbling onto the front lawn. I knew I was way too drunk to drive myself home.”

“What did you do?” she asked quietly.

Fisher met her eyes, “What I always did when I fucked up. I called my dad.”

Kirsten was beginning to put the pieces together, her stomach turning as the picture unfolded.

“It must have been three or four in the morning, but he picked up right away and said he was coming to get me.”

“He never made it, did he?”

Fisher swallowed and shook his head, “One of my friends didn’t make the same choice I did. They tried to drive themselves back, collided with my dad head-on.”

Kirsten felt frozen in time, though the world continued to move around them.

“He was in a comma for three days. My mom and I stayed in the room the entire time.” Fisher continued, “After he woke up and the doctors said he’d never walk again, I stopped seeing him.”

She couldn’t control her gasp, “Why?”

Fisher looked at her sympathetically, “Because I _hated_ myself, Kirsten. I knew that it was my fault, I’d _crippled_ my own father.”

She wanted to speak, but couldn’t fathom the words, so he kept going, “I thought he’d be better off without me, or at least that’s what I told myself. I thought it was the punishment I deserved for what I’d done. Really though, I was just too ashamed to face him.”

“After avoiding him for about a week, my mother sat me down, told me I was letting my choices in the past control my present. She said I wasn’t learning from my mistakes, or atoning for what I’d done. I was punishing myself without thinking about the people around me. My father _wanted_ to see me, but I couldn’t face him because of how _I_ felt.”

Fisher swallowed again, his eyes glistening, “When I finally went to see him, I thought – or maybe hoped – that he would be angry, tell me he hated me. But he just smiled and held me and told me it was going to be okay.” His smile was disbelieving, “ _He_ was telling _me_ it was going to be okay, can you believe that?”

“You’re his son.” she said, “He loves you no matter what.”

“And your friends love you, Kirsten.”

The whiplash in conversation left her breathless.

“W-what?”

Fisher’s expression had sobered, “I know you’re pushing them away, Kirsten. You’re blaming yourself for what happened to Ed and Megan and pushing your friends away because you think that’s what you deserve.”  

Kirsten gaped at him, utterly blindsided. It felt like a betrayal, introducing her to his family, opening up to her, leaving her raw and vulnerable only to turn the tide on her.

“You have no idea…” she seethed.

“ _Yes I do_.” he shot back, “People we love tried to protect us and they ended up hurt because of it. _I get it_ , Kirsten, but punishing yourself isn’t helping.”

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m protecting them!”

“No you’re not.”  

“Fisher, Ed Clark was _murdered._ Megan was so stricken with grief she _killed herself._ A crazy woman shot me in a parking lot. The more distance I keep from the team, the better.”

“And you don’t care how they feel about this?”

“How they _feel_?” Kirsten gawked, “Fisher, this is about their safety!”

“So breaking Cameron’s heart doesn’t matter to you?”

“Shut up.” she spat.

“If you push him away, it’ll destroy him. You know that.”

“At least he’ll be safe.”

“Not necessarily. You forget, he’s a government asset, too. All of you have targets on your backs – perks of the job. You’re not protecting them by leaving them behind.”

Every bone in Kirsten’s body was trembling, though she kept eerily still in her seat. She stared at her hands, furious to find her vision blurry with tears.

“Ed… Megan… hell, Marta…” she sighed, “I can’t risk anything like that happening again.”

_I can’t risk them_.

When she looked up, Fisher’s gaze was infinite, understanding.

“You’re letting the past control your present. My actions put my father in that wheelchair. My family will have to live with that, but isolating myself wasn’t helping them. It was selfish. You have nothing to blame yourself for, Kirsten. You’re a part of something beyond your control, but acting like everything is your fault.” after a pause, he went on, “You’re not protecting them, Kirsten. You’re hurting them – and yourself.”

Kirsten didn’t realize she was crying until she tried to speak and there was no air left in her lungs. She sniffled and looked away, a little bewildered that she was a.) crying and b.) crying in front of Fisher.

Worst of all, he was right. She knew what her aloofness would do to her friends, knew it still wouldn’t guarantee their safety. Maybe she’d just been trying to make things easier for herself. She’d asked Cameron if love was always followed by heartbreak. He wasn’t sure and Kirsten didn’t think she was brave enough to find out.

“Every time…” she began, not really having a plan for where she was going, “every time I think about Ed and Megan and what they did for me… what they gave up for me…” she inhaled sharply, “I can’t breathe. I miss them, and I’m mad at myself for missing them. I’m mad at them for dying. I’m mad at… I don’t know, the universe and then when I’m done being mad I just feel _empty_ and lost.”

Fisher nodded, “That’s grief.”

“I hate it.” Kirsten rubbed violently at her eyes, “I don’t ever want to feel it again, but I know if anything happened to Cameron or Camille or any of you,” she could feel both of their surprise at her inclusive _you_ , “I’d never be okay again.”

She was glad Fisher didn’t look at her, offering what privacy he could while she was trapped without anything to hide behind. 

“Love’s scary, in that way.” he said, “But it makes all of the time in between worth it. It gives you memories that make the grief easier.” Kirsten counted four heartbeats before he went on, “You can’t protect yourself from heartache, Kirsten, and you can’t protect them. But you can be there for them, make the time in between worth it.”

It was easier said than done, obviously, but it was enough. Kirsten smiled – just barely – and wondered how she’d thought Fisher was just a puppet, that he didn’t care about any of them. Taking a steadying breath, she loosened the strap on her sling and slowly removed it. Fisher visibly tensed but he didn’t say anything. She tossed it at her feet and held out her hand, keeping her movements slow and careful.

Fisher glanced between it and the road, hesitant, but returned her smile as he took her hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed.  
> I looked into the name Quincy Fisher to see what his background would be and turns out that’s one of the most darn-tooting American names ever, which is totally fine, but I have a weird headcanon that his parents own an ethnic bakery so I did more digging. I looked up Damon Dayoub, who plays Fisher, and turns out the surname Dayoub is Syrian, which is really cool. I then proceeded to drool over pictures of Syrian pastries for half an hour. Time well spent!


	22. Impossible Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I overdosed on fluff and threw it up in this chapter.

 

Cameron didn’t realized how tense he’d been until his front door opened. Every nerve in his body snapped like a spring wound too tight. Camille jolted upright, startling Linus, whose lap she’d been using as a pillow. He glanced frantically between the two of them.

“Okay, guys,” he cautioned, “remember what we talked about: deep breaths.”

Camille scoffed, “Oh, the only thing that’s going to be deep is how far I bury my foot in Kirsten’s – “

“I brought apology cookies.” she said, perching herself on the arm of the couch.  

Camille eyed the bag narrowly, then looked Kirsten up and down. Her petulant expression almost concealed the genuine hurt in her eyes. The two of them were so similar, Cameron realized. Both wore masks – Kirsten a detached stare and Camille a sultry smirk – to protect the secretly vulnerable hearts that lie beneath.

Cameron thought of the piece of quartz he’d given her. _You take it,_ he’d said, _to protect your heart._ It was supposed to be a promise, not a warning. _Take my heart, and I’ll do everything I can to protect yours._ He’d wanted her to feel safe.

Kirsten gave the bag another shake and Camille snatched it.

“Keep talking.” she said, still peeved.

Linus’ hand moved as if to gently grab her knee, but stopped short, knuckles grazing her thigh ever so slightly before pulling back.

Kirsten smiled as her roommate tore into the bag and hopped off the couch. Cameron rose to meet her. Most of his panic had dissipated in the hours she’d spent with Fisher. Still, his skin hummed at her proximity.

 _Too long,_ his fingers said in their silent dance up her arm, _too long without you, without your touch, without seeing you._

He cradled her head, savored the softness of her hair.

“You’re not wearing your sling.” he observed, trying to sound neutral.

Kirsten shrugged, “I needed to stretch.”

He offered a small smile, “Of course you did, Stretch.”

The name produced its desired effect, a faint glimmer brightening her eyes. It only scratched the surface, though. The rest of her expression was sad, painfully open. His heart trembled at the sight of it.

“What is it?” he whispered.

Her breath tantalized his skin as she sighed, winding her slender fingers around his wrist, stroking his knuckles with the pad of her thumb.

“We can talk about it later.” His trepidation must have been obvious, because she tightened her grip and said, “We’re fine. Everything is fine, it’s just…” she dropped her gaze, “well, _I’m_ not really fine. I’m not hurt… physically.” she huffed, “God, this is so _frustrating_.”

His heart lurched against his ribcage, but he smiled despite himself. “Welcome to the dumpster fire that is human emotions.”

Rolling her glistening eyes, she said, “You’re terrible,” but kissed him anyway.

She spent a moment with her forehead pressed against his, rallying her strength before pulling away.

“Camille,” she said, “I shouldn’t have ditched you. I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you’re sorry.” Camille said, shoveling a second cookie into her mouth while holding the bag out of Linus’ reach, “What are these?”

“Barazek, courtesy of Fisher.” Kirsten fiddled with her hands, “You were right about him, Camille. So… sorry for that, too.”

Kirsten’s whole body was rigid as she awaited judgement. Camille – ever the sadist – kept her waiting long enough for the blonde to start shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Camille’s lips crept into a knowing smile.

“Apology accepted,” she said, “so long as you take over dish duty once your stitches dissolve.”

Kirsten deflated with a sigh, “Deal.”

Linus threw himself against Camille, finally reaching far enough to grab the bag.

“So what’d you find out?” he said quickly, grabbing a handful of cookies just as Camille swiped the bag back.

She told them about Lake Leah and how her parents had come to work for Les Turner, her father’s role in designing the equipment while Ed and her mother were responsible for the progression of mind mapping.

Cameron halted his pacing and ran his knuckle along his bottom lip.

“Doesn’t seem all that helpful.” he admitted.

“That’s what I thought,” Kirsten said, “until Fisher showed me this.”

She pulled the photograph out of her pocket and placed it in the center of the coffee table.

Camille leaned in, crumpling the now empty bag of sweets into a ball, “I looked it up. It’s a line from Sleeping Beauty.”

Kirsten nodded, “ _The king and queen departed from the castle.”_ she said earnestly, “King Stefan and Queen _Leah_.”

Her pulse thundered as she counted the seconds. A tremor shot down her spine, like she’d been out of alignment and was suddenly snapping back into place.

“Queen Leah,” Linus repeated, “as in Lake Leah where you were born?”

She shrugged one shoulder, “What else could it mean?”  

Camille hummed thoughtfully before whipping out her cell phone, “Lake Leah, Oregon.” she typed furiously, “It’s about an eleven hour drive from here.”  

Linus tapped his chin, “Split that into two days, we can make it.”

Kirsten blinked, “What…?”

“We’d have to tell Maggie.” Cameron said, to which Camille tutted, “No we don’t. She gave us the next week off, with Kirsten being unstitchable and all.”

“Guys,” Kirsten said as Linus tugged on Camille’s arm.

“My parents’ old van.” he grinned.

“With the God awful purple interior?”

“Yeah, it’s perfect!”

“ _Guys_.”

Their attention returned to Kirsten with a _snap_. Cameron tensed, probably ready to offer some physical comfort, but she couldn’t deal with that right now. She pushed away from the coffee table and paced to the center of the living room. She could feel their eyes on her back like insects beneath her shirt.

“Look,” she said, hoping she sounded more commanding than she felt, “I appreciate that you guys are willing to drive halfway up the West Coast for me.”

“But you don’t want us to.” Camille guessed.

Kirsten glared at her, “No, I don’t, because I want to keep you guys _safe_. We have no idea what Ed wants me to find at Lake Leah. It could be dangerous.”

Cameron stood, but thankfully didn’t reach for her, “And you think we’re going to let you go _alone_?”

His green eyes were breathtakingly clear – determined, and perhaps a bit hurt. Hurt that she thought he’d abandon her. That isn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to understand _why_ he had to let her go.

“I know you’re trying to look out for me, but almost everyone that’s cared about me or tried to protect me has _died_.” she searched desperately for something that would connect with them, “It’s like the Doctor with his companions.”

Linus hissed a little, like he was embarrassed for her, “Actually, the companions usually outlive the Doctor. It’s the Doctor who has to regenerate every couple of seasons.”

Cameron shot him a look, “Dude, she’s trying. Let it go.”

He bowed his head sheepishly and Kirsten groaned, “Look, what I’m trying – and apparently failing – to say is,” she gestured to the three of them helplessly, “you guys are really important to me.”

 _That_ , at least, they seemed to understand. She kept trying.

“I don’t have the best track record for keeping my loved ones alive. If anything happened to you guys… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, okay? So just _please,_ let me do this on my own.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep it from trembling. They needed to understand why there was no recourse. Understand that their safety would always come before her feelings.

The three of them smiled identical half-smiles, all on the same page without breathing a word. Camille and Linus rose from the couch but only Cameron approached her, still respecting the space she was trying to maintain.

His voice was even as he said, “If the roles were reversed, would you let any of us face this on our own? No, you wouldn’t, because that’s not how family works.” Her pulse stuttered at that word, how easily it’d rolled of his lips, but Cameron didn’t hesitate. “We protect each other. We support each other.”

“We _need_ each other.” Camille said, placing her hand on Cameron’s shoulder, “We get that you’re scared of losing us, Kirsten, but we don’t want to lose you, either.”

Linus pushed through and put his arms around both of them, “Yeah there’s risks, but we’ll take those odds over you going alone.”

Kirsten sucked in air through her nose, her throat blocked by halfhearted protests and pleas. It felt like her heart was reaching through the bars of her ribcage, reaching for them.

_What happens when you feel love but won’t act on it? Does it keep welling up until you burst? Does it fade after a while?_

No, she knew it wouldn’t fade. Loving them was never going to get easier, and eventually their time would be up. Someday she’d lose them, and the heartbreak of that loss would destroy her, completely.

 _Make the time in between worth it_.

Kirsten sighed, “God, having friends is exhausting.”

Camille smiled triumphantly and pulled the blonde in for a group hug.

0o0o0o0

They spent the rest of the day huddled over Cameron’s dining room table. There was a map with their route highlighted and every bit of information they could find on Lake Leah. Tourism was the town’s big grab, capitalizing on the serene landscape, calling it “The Oasis of Southern Oregon.” Travel pictures showcased colorful shops, lush forests and a lake bluer than anything in Kirsten’s memory.

She tried to imagine a life there, if her parents hadn’t moved to Los Angeles, trading her headset for a flower crown and her keyboard for… what, a fishing pole? Cameron snorted at the idea.

As their plan came together, Kirsten’s eyelids grew heavier. She knew her team noticed and fought even harder to keep them open, but eventually the darkness won out. When she opened her eyes, the sky was a deep violet.

“Damn it.” she slurred, trying to sit up.

Someone had arranged the couch pillows so that her neck wasn’t in complete agony when she woke up and she was tucked beneath a blanket.

“Morning, Moon Pie.” Cameron appeared above her and kissed her head.

She glared at him, “That’s the worst one yet.”

“Want me to go back to Pork Chop?”

“I stand corrected.” she yawned, “What time is it?”

“8:45.”

Her eyes shot open, “ _What_?” she looked at the wall clock for confirmation, “How could I have slept that long?”

Cameron threw his arm around her as he sat down, “Because you’re on heavy medication and you’ve been running around like a mad man since you…”

Words caught in his chest, the pressure making it hard to breathe.

“Since I woke up in the hospital?” Kirsten finished.

All he could do was nod and swallow the sour taste in his mouth. Kirsten burrowed into him, holding his arm against her chest. Her warmth sent a current through him.

“I was in a comma, babe.” she murmured, “You can say it.”

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip until it hurt. Her scream echoed through his head as he watched her body crumple to the asphalt. He smelt the stale air of the hospital as she lay beside him, pale as the dead.

“No, Kirsten, _I can’t_.”

He dropped his gaze, the stunned look on her face making him feel foolish. Sitting up, she threaded her fingers with his and pulled his hand into her lap.

“Cam, look at me, please.” He did, and the softness in her eyes was so profound he went utterly still. She squeezed his hand and gently combed at his hair. “If you want me to accept your life being in danger, you have to do the same.”

The pressure in his chest let go in a rasped breath. His jaw worked around so many words, so many confessions.

_I can’t do it. I can’t watch you die. I’m not strong enough._

He held back because she was right. Danger was going to be a permanent part of their dynamic. There was no way around it. He couldn’t let his fear jeopardize their partnership. Still, he knew her too well and loved her too much not to worry.

“Promise you’ll be careful.” he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger.

She smiled, “I’ll be careful. Now you.”

“I promise.”

She kissed his palm and settled back into his embrace. He shifted so that he was laying down with her head pillowed against his chest, the blanket over both of them. Their breathing fell into sync and Cameron let his eyes fall closed.

0o0o0o0

“Cami, can I ask you something?”

Cameron covered his phone with his hand and considered it a moment. He was still shaken after Kirsten’s episode in the bathroom and wasn’t sure he could handle another emotional bout.

But he sighed, because this was _his dad_ , and said, “Sure, Pop, anything.”

Cameron knew his father well enough to know he was grinning from ear to ear as he said, “You think she’s the One, Cam?”

Cameron fought the impulse to put his head in his hands. “The One” was something Cornelius Goodkin had been trying to beat into Cameron’s brain since he was a kid.

 _Cami, when I met you mother I knew she was_ the One.

 _Cami, you like that girl, Hannah, right? Think she’s_ the One?

 _Cami, let me set you up with your mother’s cousin’s yacht-club friend’s daughter. I really think she could be_ the One.

Normally he’d write his dad off as a hopeless romantic, but… this was _Kirsten_. Kirsten, who drove him up a wall with that snarky, quick witted, brilliant mind of hers. Kirsten, who looked past his money and his backstory and just saw _him_. She was the answer to everything, a complicated equation he’d never be able to solve but would happily spend the rest of his life trying.

He couldn’t help but sigh, “Yeah, Pop. I think she is.”

0o0o0o0

Cameron laughed silently to himself. _God,_ he was sappy. Kirsten looked up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“What’s so funny?”

He shook his head and gave her a bashful smile, “Nothing, really. I’m just happy. Happy to have you here. Happy we can talk about this stuff. I’m _really_ happy.”

Her eyes searched his face. He must have looked like such a dope, but he didn’t care.

“I am, too.” she whispered like she was afraid of her own voice. He rubbed her arm reassuringly, but that only brought tears to her eyes. “I know it shouldn’t be possible… but neither should loving you. And I do, Cameron. I love you.”

She was right, of course. She shouldn’t be able to love him, to feel that strongly about anything. Science – his precious science – said it was impossible. But that’s what Kirsten did. She bent the rules of reality itself and made her own.

He kissed her like she was the light at the end of the cave, his enlightenment. He kissed her and kissed her and only pulled away to say, “I love you, Kirsten Clark.” He kissed her cheek, “I love you.” Her nose, “I love you.” Her brow, “I love you.”

There were tears in his eyes, he’d admit it. He didn’t care. She laughed and kissed him like it meant _home_. Like they existed in a reality of their own where time and space couldn’t touch them.

0o0o0o0

Moonlight danced over the water like a thousand lightning bugs. Emily threw a stone in and watched them scatter.

“Late, late, late for a very important date.” she hissed.

She’d been waiting and waiting and _waiting._ She was so tired of waiting. She was so tired. She laid down in the grass and threaded her fingers through the blades. The damp earth gave way to cool tiles and sterile white lights.

“I know it’s hard,” Marta whispered in her ear, the closest she’d been to another person in months, “but we can make these people pay. Come with me, Emily. We can get revenge.”

Emily ripped out a fistful of grass, tears streaming down her face.

“You wanted to pardon her.” she dug her fingernails into the soil, “You wanted her to go free.” She leapt to her feet, pacing the length of the courtroom crying, “ _Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!_ ” She clawed at a larger stone and heaved it into the water. “ _Off with her head_!”


	23. Baby Mine, Don’t You Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been so patient. Happy back to school, everyone!  
> Titled after the song in Dumbo that always makes me weep   
> Warning: I have a headcanon that Jacqueline Stinger is a huge potty mouth and no one can take it away from me.

Kirsten didn’t really go on vacations as a kid. Ed would make suggestions – hints about a national park he’d always wanted to visit or, “Hey, Megan and Lana are going to the cabin this weekend. Want to go?” Nothing jived.

“Once I’m there, it’s like I’ve always been there, so what’s the point?”

She was _such_ a buzzkill, not that Ed would ever admit it. He’d smile and settle for a day trip to the beach, letting her pack her travel chess board and favorite vanilla cola. Kirsten’s hand tightened around the stone in her pocket.

_I’ll figure this out, Ed. I’ll find whatever it is you want me to find._

Cameron was grilling all of them over what they’d packed, demanding that they double check if there was even the slightest hesitation. Camille pulled her tazer out of her duffle bag, swiftly ending the conversation. He was still tense as they finished loading the van. Kirsten waited for Linus and Camille to climb in the front before entwining their hands. The tension was palpable on his skin.

“Babe, stop worrying.” She said leaning in, hardly a breath of space between them. “We’re doing this together. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Optimism, she’d discovered, was a funny thing. It could start out as a lie, something you told the one you loved to ease their suffering. But the more you said it, the more you started to _believe_ it. She gave a closed lip smile and squeezed his hands, trying to prompt one of his reserved grins.

Cameron shook his head, “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to pack your sling?”

“Yes. It makes me feel even sorer. Trust me, I’ll be fine.” She released his hands to run hers up his arms and around his neck. “I’ll take it easy, I promise.”

She was certain he was about to sigh and admit defeat, so of course, _of course_ her phone had to ring at that exact moment.

“Who is it?” Cameron asked as Kirsten’s expression went slack.

She continued to stare at the phone as if it were a foreign object. “It’s… Liam?”

Cameron’s face was a strange concoction of emotions that she’d have to decipher later. She answered the call and put it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“ _Hi, Kirsten._ ”

She looked at Cameron. He shrugged. “What’s uh… what’s going on?”

“ _Kirsten, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I heard what happened. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”_

Cameron whispered in her ear, “It was all over the news. Maggie made sure you were kept anonymous, though.”

She whispered back, “Then how does Liam know about it?”

“ _Is that Cameron? The guy with the big hair?_ ”

He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously. “Hi, Liam.”

_“Hey mate. Look, Kirsten, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, but I really needed to know how you were doing._ ”

“I’m fine, Liam.” She tucked her head against Cameron’s shoulder. “I’ve got people looking out for me.”

“ _Do the police have any –“_

“No.”

“ _Oh… okay. Well, I hope they catch the son of a bitch.”_

“Daughter of a bitch.”

“ _Right, right. Well um…_ ”

“Got to go, Liam.” And she hung up.

Cameron stared apprehensively at the phone. “What was that about?”

“No clue. Ready to go?”

His eyes snapped to her. “What, just like that?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not concerned about this?”

“About my ex-boyfriend? No.”

“Well I am. It seems shady.”

Kirsten smiled and kissed his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He gave her a peck on the lips. “Liar.”

“You’re right. It’s petty and juvenile.” She dug her hands into his back pockets, relishing the tiny squeak that escaped his throat. “You’re my boyfriend. Not Liam. Now get in the car.”

0o0o0o0

Liam would have made a good dad, he thought. Make sure the child got enough sleep? Check. Make sure the child was eating properly? Check. Make sure the child came out of their secret lair at least once a day to receive actual sunshine? Results may vary.

He set the bag of pastries on the table, their sweet scent mingling with the stale air of the basement. The narrow windows were actually uncovered today, letting in a few rays of morning light. Hopefully that meant today was a good day.

“Daniel?” he called out, draping his leather jacket over one of the many computer monitors. “I brought breakfast.”

“Not hungry.” Came the answer from the far end of the cellar.

Liam wove through the labyrinth of machines, extension cords, and filing cabinets. He stepped over a series of charts he recognized from a few weeks ago, now covered with inked in corrections and notes. Daniel was on his knees in front of a monitor that had no stand, eyeing the display of numbers disdainfully.

“You have to eat, Daniel.” Liam said, unfazed by his disheveled appearance.

The man either didn’t hear him or – more likely – didn’t feel like the comment warranted a response. Liam squatted to his level and tapped his finger against the screen. Daniel waved him off, still not making eye contact.

“I will. I will.” He said, pushing himself up and striding over to a different monitor with a keyboard.

“No you won’t,” Liam followed, “and then you’ll be even more cranky than usual.”

Though his back was turned, Liam was sure Daniel was rolling his eyes.

Bracing himself, Liam said, “I called Kirsten today.”

Everything went still, like the air itself didn’t understand what had just happened. Daniel turned slowly, his fists trembling at his sides.

“ _What?_ ” He demanded, offering Liam a chance to deny it, play it off as a poorly executed joke. When he didn’t, Daniel’s face became livid. “Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that is?”

Liam didn’t raise his voice, but his tone was harsh. “I thought you’d want to know your daughter is okay.”

“I’ve been monitoring her. I know she’s – “

“I don’t mean that.” He started to pace along the length of one cable. “I don’t understand why you can’t see her. We’re already risking our lives. What difference will a phone call make?”

Seemingly on reflex, Daniel said, “I don’t want her in any more danger.”

“She’s always in danger – whether it be from Les Turner or that psycho shooter. Kirsten is always in danger. A call from her dad isn’t going to change that.”

“It’ll change everything!” Daniel’s voice ricocheted off the concrete walls. “If I call, they’ll think she remembers. They’ll think she’s working with me.” He started to say something, but it came out strained and incoherent. Daniel shut his eyes, forced his breathing to settle in an even rhythm. “I won’t lose her again.”

Liam’s frustration ebbed slightly. It always did when Daniel got like this, when he was spiraling down into himself. He stopped pacing and came to stand within arms’ reach.  

“You didn’t have a choice.” He said. Daniel tucked his chin against his chest. “If you hadn’t wiped her memory, you’d both be dead.”

Daniel shook his head as if that weren’t true. Liam reached for him but he turned abruptly toward the window. His reflection was stricken.

“I crippled her.”

“You protected her.”

Daniel continued to shake his head. How many times had he imagined calling Kirsten, Liam wondered? How often did he mourn the father/daughter experiences they’d both been robbed of?

He took up a desk chair against the far wall, trying to offer some space. “She doesn’t hate you, Daniel.”

He laughed bitterly. “Of course she does.”

“No Daniel, she _doesn’t_.” Finally, he met Liam’s eye. “Don’t get me wrong, Kirsten never spoke about you in the most glowing terms when we were together, but she doesn’t hate you. She’s hurt and wary of letting people in.”

_You should be able to understand that._

Daniel stared him down for a long moment, perhaps actually considering what Liam was saying. Then he returned to the computer, trying to bury the guilt and pain beneath his work. “If she doesn’t hate me now, she will when she learns the truth.”

“You weren’t the only person involved. The entire program was misguided.”

“And who was leading it?” He shot Liam a pointed look. “I helped provide Turner with technology that defies the laws of ethics.”

“You’re trying to make up for it.” Liam insisted. “You’ve spent the last sixteen years trying to perfect the algorithm, make it safe for both subject and stitcher.” He waited until Daniel faced him again to say, “Kirsten will see that. She understands people much better than she gets credit for.”

Daniel sighed and looked away, but Liam was patient. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, which earned a resistant grin. “Come on, mate. Let’s have some breakfast.”

0o0o0o0

Jacqueline sat on the stone steps of the lab, the knuckles of her fists bone white. Everyone else had left the testing floor as soon as they’d been dismissed. She couldn’t blame them. That girl’s screams still resonated in the air.  

Daniel sat beside her, holding her hands even though his touch made her ill. “Jac, look at me, please.” She did, if only to get him to stop asking. He looked startled by the severity in her eyes.  

“We have to shut it down, Daniel.” He gave her a pleading look before averting his gaze altogether. She spoke louder. “We _have_ to. You saw what happened today.”

He swallowed. “A failed experiment. It isn’t worth abandoning the whole project.”

Jacqueline gaped at him. “You’re quoting Les right now? Are you fucking serious?”

“He’s right.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. After everything they’d witnessed today – everything they’d _done_ – how could he be so dismissive? “That girl was barely ten years old! Nearly the same age as Kirsten.”

He had the gall to sound angry. “Jac – “

“Imagine if it was our baby in that thing.”

“Enough.”

She shook her head, slow and disbelieving. He finally released her and she launched herself off the steps, heading for the metal doors to the rest of the lab. “We have to stop it.”

He raced after her, catching her wrist before she could heave the doors open. “This is our lives’ work, Jac. Maggie and Ed’s, too.”

Jacqueline yanked her hand away. “Maggie wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t been forced to leave the CIA.”

“Still, this program is all we have.”

She’d been fighting tears since the test failed, but that? That’s what did it. “We have a _daughter_ , Daniel, who looks at you like you’re a superhero. She thinks we’re saving the world.”

“We…” His voice split with emotion and she thought _there he is. That’s my husband._ “We’re trying to.”

“It may have started out that way but you know things have changed. We went too far.”

“Emily’s foster family will be compensated. We’ll learn from this. We’ll make it better.”

Jacqueline shook her head. That wasn’t enough. “We need to make it right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!!!


	24. The Lies We Tell Ourselves

 

Cameron set the bags of chips and candy bars on the check-out counter as Kirsten handed the cashier their reusable bag. The man hesitated a moment, staring warily at Cameron’s ear-to-ear grin.

“Afternoon, sir.” Cameron said, bumping his temple against Kirsten’s. “My _girlfriend_ and I would like to pay for these.”

The cashier looked even more displeased and began ringing them up without a word.

“Cameron,” Kirsten hissed in his ear, though he could feel her smile, “if I had known you were going to be a total nine-year-old about this, I wouldn’t –“

“Wouldn’t what?” he squawked, looking around at the other customers. “Be _my girlfriend_?” A couple of people glanced over at them. Cameron pointed at Kirsten and mouthed _my girlfriend_. She swatted his hand away without looking up, handing the cashier a twenty. “Hey, you said I could pay!”

“That’s alright, Cami.” she said with artificial sweetness. “You worked hard for that allowance money.”

“Oh _ha ha._ ”

She stuffed the change into her pocket and Cameron grabbed the bag. She stuck out her hand as they left the truck stop. “Okay, sweetie, hold my hand while we cross the parking lot. Wait, wait! Don’t forget to look both ways.”

“ _Enough_.” He groaned, kissing her cheek.

Camille narrowed her eyes in the rearview mirror, drumming her fingernails against the steering wheel. “They’re so gross.”

Linus chuckled and jabbed her with the book he was reading. “Don’t act like you’re not the captain of that ship.” She blinked at him. “You know, _shipping_? Relationship?”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

He sighed. “You have no culture.”

She swore under her breath in Hindi and glared out the window. Linus’ smile faded, reading the tension in her body like a DANGER sign. He glanced back at the lovebirds, walking arm-in-arm as if they were one person. The familiarity with which they could touch each other, the sense of _rightness_ when they were together…

“You’re jealous.”

It wasn’t an accusation. He was already certain, but it felt too insane to be true. Could she really want what he did, what Kirsten and Cameron had? He and Camille had been dancing around their feelings for so long, twisting and turning until Linus couldn’t tell who was leading anymore.

Camille’s fingers stilled. “What?”

“You are.”

She barked a laugh, perhaps giving him a chance to take it back. He didn’t. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was a reflex, a survival instinct for her to push him away. He understood that, he did. It didn’t stop the temperature of his blood from rising to a boiling point. Linus talked a big game about being made of steel, but he knew no one was buying it. His heart was a fragile thing, and despite the risk he’d given it to her. He trusted her with his insecurities, his dreams, his love. She couldn’t do the same, not yet, and that was okay. But to dismiss his love, to say he knew nothing when he was trying so hard to understand? That burned through to his core.

“Of course, Camille.” He spat, half expecting flames to come out of his mouth. “You’re right. We’re utter strangers, you and I.”

Camille’s eyebrows rose incredulously. “Something you want to say, Ahluwalia?”  

_I’m here! I’m right here, waiting! I’m not going anywhere! Just let me in!_

Linus closed his eyes, took a deep, long breath. He loved her, and subconsciously he knew that would always be true, but he couldn’t do this anymore. His heart wasn’t strong enough.

“I know what you’re doing, Camille. Pull whatever kind of crap you want with the others, but it isn’t going to work on me. I see those walls you’re putting up, and I’m willing to bet they’re far worse than whatever it is you’re trying to hide.”

His voice was low, simmering with intensity. Camille’s eyes widened, just a fraction, and whatever retort she’d been preparing left her in a ragged breath. The mask came down, her face so stricken, so raw, Linus nearly gasped. All the anger that had been growing inside him dissipated instantly, replaced with regret and self-loathing.  

Before he could apologize, Cameron and Kirsten shimmied into the back seat. Camille went rigid, her features snapping back into place.

“What’d we miss?” Cameron asked.

Camille stared straight ahead. No witty remark, no sarcastic comment. The silence was heavy with their absence. Kirsten furrowed her brows, glancing between the two of them, then at Cameron who simply shrugged. Linus stared at them helplessly.

“Linus,” Kirsten said curtly, startling him, “switch with me.”

“What?”

“Switch with me.” She pulled open the door and hopped out.

Linus followed mutely, shifting awkwardly beside Cameron. Camille still didn’t turn her head, but her posture visibly relaxed when Kirsten settled in.

As they merged back onto the highway, the blonde offered a coy smirk. “What, no tunes?”

(It was a necessary question since the conversation that had sustained them thus far on the trip had utterly _died._ )

Camille’s lips tugged ever so slightly at the corners. “It’s the Ahluwalia’s car. Your options are Indian classical music or one of Ghetti’s rock albums.”

Kirsten dug around, calling out a few selections that Camille promptly rejected. “How about Guns N’ Roses?”

Cameron made an unenthusiastic noise, but Camille nodded.

0o0o0o0

Quincy Fisher had never been a good liar. According to his mother, he had far too many tells: clenching and unclenching his fists, avoiding eye contact, his voice jumping two octaves. He was a terrible liar, except, of course, for the night he’d ruined his dad’s life. Irony was a bitch.

While he was still no good at lying, years of detective work had helped Fisher develop a special knack for omitting information. So when Camille called him last night, told him what they were doing, he hadn’t lied when he promised not to tell Maggie. He simply forgot to mention that he’d be following them. They’d have about a day’s head start, since he hadn’t gotten a mini-vacation after Kirsten woke up. But he swore that whenever she found what Ed Clark had left behind, he’d be there with her.

The lab’s silence was eerie and unfamiliar, the office feeling more like a prison cell than a work space. Maggie was exactly where he’d left her, palms braced against the table, surveying the evidence they’d collected. She acknowledged him with a nod, eyeing the packet in his hands.

“Do you have what I asked for?”

Fisher removed the photographs and passed them to her. She mumbled what hopefully was a ‘thank you’ and began sifting through them.

“Remind me again why you wanted surveillance footage from outside the hospital?”

“Because,” she said without looking up, “it’s possible Black Berry was there the day Kirsten left.” Her eyes flashed, slamming one of the pictures onto the table (probably harder than she’d meant to). “Look here, the figure in the wheelchair.”

Fisher leaned in. The image was hard to make out, poor camera quality further hindered by the torrential downpour.

“I see it.” he said, _barely._

“Kirsten’s mentioned seeing a person in a wheelchair in several stitches.”

She feverishly placed the photos on the table, arranging them in a way that must have made sense in her own head. Fisher stood back a moment, taking her in fully for the first time. Her hair was as close to imperfect as he’d ever seen it and the purple half-moons beneath her eyes weren’t encouraging.

“Maggie,” he said, moving his hand to where she could see it, but careful not to touch her, “even in our line of work that seems like a bit of a jump.”

She blinked at him, some clarity returning to her face. Stepping away from the table, she worried the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Still,” she sighed, “it’s worth investigating.”

If he thought he’d get a straight answer, Fisher would have asked Maggie if she was okay. Instead, he took another look at the documents splayed over the table. It was everything he’d seen before, save an NSA clearance card sitting atop a stack of photos.

“Why do you have Marta Rodriguez’s I.D?” He said, turning the card over in his hand.

Maggie picked up a series of folders that were sitting beside the photographs. “I went back through the stitch logs.” She handed him a report with the date highlighted. “Marta’s revival occurs just before this wheelchair starts showing up in Kirsten’s stitches.”

“The connection being?” She leveled him with a glare, impatience fueled by exhaustion. He ducked his head, looking at the reports again. “You think Marta had a partner?”

“I’m certain of it.” She pushed passed him toward the coffee machine which she’d hauled out of the break room and onto her desk.

Fisher reached around her and plucked the mug from her hands before she could fill it. Her murderous expression didn’t faze him as he set it down and back tracked out of the room, gesturing for her to follow. After some silent begging, she walked with him to the break room where he grabbed a bottle of water and a protein bar.

“Non-caffeinated drink.” He said, depositing the snacks in her hands. “Actual food.”

Maggie smirked and shook her head. “Thank you, Quincy.”

“Anytime, boss. We’ll look into Marta’s possible partner, but only when we’re both at 100%.” He wanted to leave it at that, encouraging words between friends, but the anticipation was paralyzing. “Speaking of partners, a friend of mine in Portland wants me to consult with her on a case.”

He didn’t like to lie, but he’d do what he had to do.

Maggie froze, the protein wrapper half open. “You’re going out of town?”

Fisher forced himself to maintain eye contact, kept his voice steady, hands relaxed at his sides. “Figure it’s the best time, since Kirsten won’t be good to stitch for a while.”

She studied him long past the threshold of comfort, but he didn’t flinch. “Very well.” She said before pouncing on the protein bar. “Let me know if you plan on being gone past the end of the week.”

Fisher could only nod mutely. He didn’t care how stressed out or sleep deprived she was. There was no way Maggie Baptiste, former CIA assassin, just fell for that. Still, she was letting him go, which meant she either wasn’t worried that he’d lied or she already had measures in place to undermine his efforts.

Deciding it was time to go, Fisher excused himself and headed toward the elevator. He’d begun mentally packing when the sound of high-heeled footsteps stopped him.

“Fisher…” Maggie said, knuckles nearly white against the metal railing. He turned back, surprised by the sincerity in her face. “Look out for them.”

Again, words failed him, so he nodded once and headed out.

0o0o0o0

Every sound felt as though it was chipping away at Maggie’s skull and leaving holes for her overwhelmed brain to fall out of. Every voice, whether directed at her or not, seemed to be saying the same thing.

 _Look at what you’ve done. Look at what you’ve done._  

Emily was placed on a stretcher and removed from the lab with disturbing efficiency, like they were wheeling away a waist bin and not a human child.

_You did this. This is your fault. You monster._

The medical staff had already confirmed it, hell Maggie could _see_ the monitor with her own eyes, but she couldn’t believe it. Brain dead. Brain. Dead. Not only had the experiment failed, but they’d managed to condemn an innocent child to a fate worse than death.

Les hadn’t spoken to her yet, didn’t have the nerve. Instead, he and Daniel were conversing in urgent whispers in the far corner of the lab. Jaqueline hadn’t moved in almost an hour, just staring at the data on her monitor as if it had possessed her.  

Ed had been buzzing from station to station, trying to gain all of the information, trying to understand. That’s what he did when something was too terrible to believe, he tried to rationalize it. There was nothing to explain here. They fucked up.

Feeling her thoughts shift to him, Ed met her eyes from across the testing floor and made a B-line in her direction.

“Mags,” he pleaded, brown eyes wide and frantic.

“Don’t.” she growled, eyeing the people around them. _So much blood on so many hands._ “Not here.”

She locked onto his arm like a bird of prey and all but dragged him out of the laboratory. They made their way through the labyrinth of hallways in a daze, their bodies knowing the route while their minds were running in a thousand different directions.

When they’d made it to their secret stairwell – as secret as anything could be in an NSA facility – Ed tore himself away and paced to the far wall.

“We’re done”

Terror shot through her. He meant _them_ , whatever they’d become to each other, whatever it was they were doing was over. A loud _snap_ echoed through her as the last strings holding her heart in place were severed.

Ed pressed his knuckles into his lips and whispered, “We never should have listened to Les.”

Just like that, the agony in her chest eased. He meant the experiment, not them, not her. She wasn’t a mistake, a regret. Breathing deep, Maggie tried to quiet her pounding heart and focus.

“I listened to Les.” She said. “I believed him. I’m the one that pushed all of you to – “

“Maggie, stop.” Ed sighed, running his hands up her forearms. “This wasn’t all you.”

She shook head. “Daniel couldn’t have known.”

“Neither could you.”

Maggie wanted to curl her arms around his neck, tuck herself against his body and stay there. Instead she backed away from his warmth, crossing her arms over her chest. “Using a child test subject.” She said in somber disbelief. “What were we thinking?”

They both knew the answer, but Ed replied, anyway. “We thought a frontal cortex that wasn’t fully developed would be easier to control.”

“Except it had the opposite effect,” Maggie choked out, “and now Emily’s mind is destroyed.”

Slowly, Ed reached for her again and this time she didn’t fight it. She kicked off her heels and let him envelop her in his embrace, resting his chin atop her head. If she closed her eyes and ignored the concrete chilling her toes, she could pretend they were at home, safe. Free.

“We have to tell Les to shut it down.” Ed said. “Rework it. Do _something._ ”

Maggie kept her face hidden in his shirt. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. We need a… a new purpose. Move the focus away from interrogation technology and toward… something.”

He was getting frustrated, she could tell. It was a truly bad sign when the most patient man she’d ever known was at the end of his rope.

“Has anyone besides Daniel seen the algorithm?” Ed asked.  

“Hopefully not.”

He sighed again and hugged her tighter. “We’ll figure it out. Talk to Les. I’ll talk to Daniel. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.” She murmured, though she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.

 


	25. Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder to avoid confusion: I started writing this before Theo came into the picture, so I have my own OC for Camille’s brother, Richard “Duckie” Johnson. It’s not imperative that you remember, but in case you were wondering, there ya go.

 

Camille could drive a stick shift by the time she was thirteen years old. Duckie had taught her, said he wanted her to be as independent as possible, and her parents didn’t care enough to question the legality of it. Luckily she had long legs for her age and could reach the pedals, though she had to sit on a stack of books to see over the dashboard.

They really couldn’t afford to be frivolous with gas, but Duckie would make an exception every once in a while. They’d take long midnight rides through the valley and Duck would let her do donuts in empty parking lots. Once they’d found a good spot, they’d grab a blanket and climb up on the hood, watching stars appear then vanish as the sun crept over the horizon.

_“Once you get into that nerd school, Cami, we’re getting the hell out of here.”_

_Camille shook her head. “This program is super competitive. They only accept a dozen applicants, and I haven’t even finished high school! Why the hell would they accept me over Richie Rich who’s senior class president and the captain of like four varsity sports teams?”_

_“Because you’re smarter than all of those pricks put together. You’ll get in.”_

_She still didn’t believe him, not entirely, but the possibility was too tempting to resist. “Where will we go?”_

_He whistled thoughtfully, “Shit, wherever the hell we want! We can go to every state in the U.S, and after that…” he leaned in and pulled her beanie over her eyes, “Mexico.”_

_“You’re crazy.” And she meant it, though she couldn’t stop smiling._

Those nights had been her escape, but it never felt like Camille was running away from something. The way Duckie talked about the future – how she could conquer the world if she wanted – made it seem like they were always moving toward something. Whatever she’d left behind, whoever Camille Johnson had been didn’t matter. All that mattered was the road ahead of her. Everything else could fade away in the rearview mirror.

_We’re on our way, Duck. This is the beginning._

That beaten down Chevy was the closest thing she’d ever felt to _home_ , until…

Camille shook her head. Linus was the last person she wanted to think about, right now, which was difficult when she could feel his eyes on her every ten minutes. Kirsten was trying to keep up conversation – and hell, wasn’t _that_ something – but the distraction only lasted a moment. Her thoughts kept circling back to him, his face, how he looked as frustrated as she felt.

The urge to slam her head against the steering wheel was overwhelming. She’d told herself that she had a grip on her stupid emotions, sworn she wasn’t going to make a mess of everything, and she thought she was doing a good job! That was until Linus ambushed her.

_Pull whatever kind of crap you want with the others…_

Camille had to will herself not to scowl. He really _didn’t_ know what he was talking about. Camille wasn’t jealous. Not when she’d seen Kirsten’s emotionless shell crumble at the thought of Cameron in danger. Not when she’d witnessed Cameron lose himself at the possibility of losing Kirsten. They were linked, and if anything happened to one, the other would cease to exist.

Could Linus not see that? Did he not understand how dangerous it was to love someone? Camille had risked it once, and losing it nearly killed her. Now she was just a zombie. Instead of rotting flesh on the outside, she had a dimpled smile and enticing dark eyes to cover up the damage underneath.

Her subconscious betrayed her and without thinking she glanced in the rearview mirror. Linus’ eyes widened, his whole body going rigid, but to her surprise he didn’t look away. She turned her attention back to the road but his eyes stayed at the front of her mind.

Camille’s eyes were a one-way mirror, reflecting what everyone expected to see back at them, never giving away what was on the other side. Linus’s eyes were the opposite: warm and inviting and open, a one-way ticket to his heart. She’d thought him gullible when they first met, and he could still be horribly naïve, but at least it showed he was _alive_. At least he was made of something good instead of… whatever the hell she was made of.

Shit, maybe she was jealous.

Someone spoke her name and she was pulled from her thoughts as if surfacing from underwater. “Sorry, what?”

Kirsten pointed frantically while Cameron squawked, “We’re going to miss our exit!”

Camille gave a little huff to say _oh, is that all_? and nonchalantly cut across three lanes of traffic, grinning ruefully at her friends’ panicked exclamations.

“Cameron,” Kirsten gasped as they got off the highway, “tomorrow you’re driving.”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“Babies.” Camille muttered.

It took them another twenty minutes to find the hotel. The paper map Linus had packed said the hotel would be east of the main road.  Kirsten’s phone said west. Linus was right.

“Technology has failed me.” Kirsten said with mock horror.

It wasn’t really that funny, but everyone laughed as if it were the greatest thing they’d heard in years. This was still new, Kirsten telling jokes. This was still a little uncanny and the excitement of it made them all giddy.

Camille pulled up to the front of the hotel and waited for the three of them to get out, then pulled around to find a place to park. When she shut the engine off, the sudden silence permeated her bones.

_We’re utter strangers, you and I._

It wasn’t true, there was no denying that. She’d let Linus get closer than anyone else since Duckie. At some point, thoughts of him had become as common as thoughts of her own. 

_Linus would love this movie. This song. Linus would laugh at that. This would send Linus into a rant. Linus would know how to fix this. Linus would hold me, tell me everything was going to be okay, and believe it. Linus would run the moment he knew the truth._

_Or worse_ , a traitorous part of her mind wondered, _he’d stay, and what would I do then?_

0o0o0o0

Linus probably looked like a small dog that needed to relieve itself, hopping from foot to foot and unable to focus on anything longer than a few seconds. He jumped when the lobby doors slid open, expecting it to see Camille, but it was just an elderly couple. Kirsten abandoned Cameron at the check-in desk and looked him up and down, unimpressed.

“What did you do?”

“Made Camille mad.” He said, still fidgeting.

“No shit. _How_ did you make her mad?”

“I…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. _I said the truth, but I said it wrong. I said it too harsh. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. We’re both hurt, we’re both afraid. I should have known. I should have known._ “I said the wrong thing.”

Kirsten hummed in acknowledgment, glancing back at Cameron. “Linus, can I ask you something?”

“Does it matter if I say no?”

“No.” She said, lowering her voice just above a whisper. “When you knew Cameron had feelings for me, what did you think?”

Linus blinked at her, “What did I think?”

“Yeah. Did you approve of it? Did you advise him against it? What did you think?”

Linus swallowed, choking on hesitation. His words had done enough damage for one day. He didn’t want two thirds of his friend group giving him the silent treatment. Still, Kirsten had always appreciated honesty.

“I felt bad for him. Cameron’s a big _feely_ guy, and you were… well, the old you. I didn’t think there was any hope.”

Kirsten nodded. “And then?”

Linus didn’t get it. “Then you fell for him, I guess.”

She rolled her eyes. “He was my friend, first. Showed my what friendship could be. He supported me, helped me navigate all of these new emotions and connections I’d never had before. He put his own feelings aside until I was ready, until I was sure of what I wanted.” Her hand came up to rest on his shoulder, stilling his frazzled nerves. She gave a reassuring squeeze. “Camille may never return your feelings, Linus, but if you push her now, I can guarantee you’ll lose her.”

Linus sighed and blinked to clear his eyes. “Sometimes I feel like she’s so close and then just slips away.”

“Give her time. Time without expectations. Let her know you’ll be there for her whatever she decides.”

Linus considered that: time without expectation. He sat outside the fortress of Camille’s heart, facing the stone walls that barred him from reaching her. Could he wait for her? Maybe, but if she decided he wasn’t what she wanted, could he accept a place forever on the outside? Friends?

He wasn’t sure, but if Kirsten was right, if the other option was losing her completely, then his choice was clear. He chose her.

0o0o0o0

When they got to the room, a snide comment about Cameron spending far too much on a hotel room they’d only need for one night was nearly the first thing out of Kirsten’s mouth. Instead she sprawled out on the plush king sized mattress and all thoughts of teasing flitted away.

She heard the door shut, bags drop to the floor, and felt the bed dip as Cameron sat beside her.

“Did I do good?”

“It’s unnecessarily big.” she murmured into the silk comforter.

“But it’s nice, right? Also, that’s what she said.”

“Well sure, it’s nice. And that’s what _they_ said, Dopey. It’s 2017.”

“You’re right, you’re right. That’s what they said,” He bent down and kissed the back of her head. “Dopey.”

She poked at his ribs and he shrunk away, a soft, fond smile taking over his face. It didn’t last though, his brows knitting deeply in thought.

“Hey Kirst,” he said, drumming his fingers gently against her arm, “do you think one of us should have swapped rooms?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, “but Camille kept insisting everything was fine.” After a moment, she added, “I think they’ll be okay. I gave Linus some advice.”

“Did you now?”

“Shut up, it was good advice. If he listens to me, everything should be fine.”

Cameron nodded and tried to convince himself it was that simple.

0o0o0o0

Linus felt lightheaded as he set their bags beside the small coffee table and realized he’d been holding his breath since they’d gotten off the elevator. Camille hadn’t met his eyes, but her stance was more relaxed than before, less defensive. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. His nerves were ready to burst by the time Camille shut the door and kicked off her boots.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted, earning her full attention. She looked reticent and a little sad. More than anything, she looked tired. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Linus,” she sighed, but he shook his head. Adrenaline was revving in his system, Kirsten’s words buzzing through his mind at a high frequency.

“There’s something I need to say, something I didn’t really understand before.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but must have been convinced by the certitude in his eyes, so she simply nodded for him to continue.

Linus had always been the person to wear his heart on his sleeve. This felt totally different. This was putting his heart truly out in the open. Camille could probably see it through his ribs, bright and nervous and so hopelessly in love with her. Linus wanted to turn away from her, deliver his speech to the unjudging wall, but that wasn’t fair. He couldn’t ask her to let him in if he was going to cower under her scrutiny. He was asking her to be brave, so he had to promise to do the same.

“The truth is…” he took a breath, like those three words had drained him of energy, “I’m in love with you, Camille.” He held up his hand at her horrified expression. “I am, okay? Whoever you think you are on the inside, the person I see is… I love her.” Another breath. “It’s true, there’s a lot I don’t know about you. I’d like to change that, but I’ve realized that isn’t up to me. You’re my friend, before anything else, and you don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t want to. All I can do is promise to be here, supporting you, if you do ever decide to let me in. And,” his voice wavered slightly, so he took another breath to correct himself, “if you never feel like you can, that’s okay. I’m your friend, no matter what. Just… please don’t treat me like a stranger. It makes me feel like our friendship doesn’t matter, like _I_ don’t matter.”

There was more that he could have said, perhaps. He could have rattled off all of the reasons why he loved her. He could have asked the question that had been plaguing him for months: what was so damning that she thought she didn’t deserved to be happy? Voicing that now would be a betrayal, though, so he accepted the silence that suffused the room and waited.

Camille’s mask was gone, her dark eyes blazing, but Linus couldn’t hope to read her expression. There were too many emotions playing across her face. When it seemed as though he’d rendered her mute, Linus slung his duffle over his shoulder and started toward the door.

“I’m going to sleep in the van tonight, okay? I’ll meet you guys for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Oddly, it was this statement that knocked her back into reality. “Sleep in the… what? Why?”

“There’s one bed and I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position. That’s the whole point.”

“Linus,” Her lips started around so many words but none were given a voice. She massaged the bridge of her nose, sighing, “That’s ridiculous. It’s way too cold to sleep outside.”

“Camille, I don’t want to – “

“Just, please.” Her hand came up, begging for silence.

Linus felt like he should take a few steps backward. He nearly jumped when she reached for his arm, but it was only to grab his duffle and toss it back toward the coffee table. She huffed and leaned against the door, crossing her arms to emphasize that he was _not_ leaving.

“I forgive you.” She was holding back, but something in her face told him she was being genuine. He offered a closed-lip smile which she almost returned before saying, “I’m sorry, too.”

It was an apology for more than what she’d said to him. It was an apology for everything.

_I’m sorry you fell in love with me. I’m sorry you’re going to get hurt. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need._

He didn’t have to hear any of that, though, because he was still her undefeatable optimist. He still hoped beyond hope that there was something redeemable in her. She didn’t want to hurt him anymore than she already had, than she was inevitably going to. So instead she mustered a meager smile and didn’t fight the warmth that blossomed in her chest when he returned it.

He bit his lip sheepishly and extended his arms, still keeping a civil distance. “Permission to hug?”

Camille’s smile lifted a bit, shoulders bouncing in a muted laugh. “Granted.” She said and settled herself between his arms.

He tucked his nose into her hair, nothing indecent, but enough for her to feel his breath against her neck. Despite herself, she curled against him tighter, snuffing out all empty space between them. She felt safe, here. She felt at home, and it was terrifying.

Linus broke the embrace and launched himself onto the mattress, something he’d probably wanted to do since they came in. “Want to watch a movie?”

Camille flopped onto the space beside him. “And order room service.” Linus raised an eyebrow. “These rooms are on Cameron’s card.”

He nodded in understanding. “Taking advantage of rich friends.”

“What else are they good for?”

Linus chuckled, the sounded coming from deep inside his chest. She couldn’t deny how much she loved him, not after everything they’d been through. She loved him despite every instinct telling her to protect herself, despite the voices in her head crying ‘ _hypocrite._ ’ Thoughts of him had somehow become synonymous with _forever_ and _home_.

Camille had been wrong, before. She was a runaway. Ever since Duck, she’d been running from anything that might make her care, might make her vulnerable. Somewhere along the way she’d stopped. She let people in, and now they were all going down together.


	26. A Love that Defines Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. Thanks again for your continued patience that I am almost certain I don’t deserve. Have some Camsten fluff because you deserve it.

Cameron was trying very hard not to be petty. The words “I told you so” hadn’t yet left his lips, but his smug expression probably said as much. Kirsten had been struggling for the last five minutes to get out of her jeans. Even with the medication, her shoulder was still tender, hence why she was writhing on the bed, trying to yank her jeans off with one hand. She’d taken Cameron’s offer to help as a challenge and promptly banished him to the loveseat in the corner. This was precisely the reason he’d told her to pack sweatpants, but he kept that to himself.

After another minute of mumbled swearing, Kirsten went limp and jutted her chin out in Cameron’s direction. “Boyfriend.”

Cameron cocked his head innocently to the side. “Yes, girlfriend?”

“Help me.”

 _Why should I?_ was almost the first thing out of his mouth, but he couldn’t even muster a straight face. Beaming, he made his way to the foot of the bed and grabbed the ends of her jeans. With the combined effort of him pulling and Kirsten’s wiggling, the pants came off with a _swoosh_. Something landed with a heady thud against the carpet beside Cameron’s foot. He bent down, holding the piece of quartz between his thumb and forefinger.  

“I think this fell out of your pocket.” He said, tossing it to her and throwing her jeans onto the loveseat.

Kirsten looked at the stone intently, running her thumb along one of its ridges. “I really need to find a better place for this. I’m going to end up losing it.”

She turned and placed it on the nightstand. The lamplight sunk into the stone, illuminating every vein and fissure. Kirsten continued to study it, her brows knitted, focused. Cameron crawled onto the mattress beside her, settling on his knees and wrapping his arms around her waist. She made a small noise as he kissed behind her ear, a sweet, pure sound that stirred _very impure_ feelings in the base of his stomach.

He asked quickly, “How long have you been carrying it around?”

Maybe it was his imagination, or another trick of the light, but he thought a faint blush had spread over her cheeks. Instead of answering, she slumped against him and tucked her chin against her chest so that he couldn’t see her expression.

Cameron chased after her, nuzzling her cheek and making her squirm. “Come on, Dove, tell me.”

Her mouth quirked in a reluctant smile, their faces barely an inch apart. “You’re really broadening your horizons in the nickname department, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow and she finally gave in. “I’ve had it on me since you gave it to me.”

That surprised him. Honestly, Cameron hadn’t much of a game plan that night – probably would have thought of something less cheesy to say if he had. He’d expected her to toss it as soon as he’d left, and the fact that she didn’t felt like an honor.

Kirsten went on. “I remember the next morning I almost didn’t bring it to work. I was halfway to the car and… I don’t know. I couldn’t leave without it. I kept telling myself it was just a rock, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt special.”

“Like a good luck charm.” Cameron murmured.

“I don’t think good luck charms work on me.” She joked, but there was a sad truth to it. She amended, “No, this was more about having something from you. It almost felt like you were always with me. Whenever I get frustrated over a case or some emotional thing I don’t understand, or I go into one of my obsessive episodes, I hold the stone in my hand and think about you. It helps.” She pressed her lips together and looked at him, shy and expectant. “Is that crazy?”

Cameron was breathless and practically trembling as he reached out to cup her face. “Not to me.”

He began to lean in but it was Kirsten that closed the distance, possessing his lips with hers. Cameron felt his entire body changing form, melting against her mouth and fingertips as they ghosted across his jawline. The kiss was drugging, reducing his mind to singular thoughts. _Hands. Hair. Teeth. Tongue._ Cameron gasped as she seized his bottom lip and nearly _whined_ when she sucked on the tender spot.

His hands splayed over the small of her back and she arched into his touch. Cameron wasn’t sure if he pulled her into his lap or if she came on her own volition. It didn’t matter, because she was _there_ , her body flush against his and he’d never felt more alive. Her fingers were electrifying as they traced down the length of his chest, diving swiftly beneath his shirt to the hem of his jeans. His deeply intoxicated brain ground to a halt, his eyes flying opening.

“Kirsten,” he exhaled, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She was already pulling him back. “You won’t.” His protests were lost to another kiss. When he tried to pull away again, she moved her lips to his throat. “We’ll go slow.” Her hot breath sent a tremor down his spine. “It’ll be fine.”

Cameron bucked his hips involuntarily, making her gasp. The sound had him biting his lip to the point of pain, desperately trying to regain his self-control.

Kirsten wouldn’t allow it, kissing a sweet spot just below his ear. “Please, Cam.” _God,_ she was actually _begging._ “Please.”

All of his air – and the last of his resolve – left him in a fierce breath. He curled his fist in her hair, drinking in the moan that escaped her. His other hand took it’s time, clutching at her hip, then moving up her side, across her ribs to palm at her breast. She smiled into the kiss, pulling frantically at his shirt until it was over his head and discarded somewhere neither of them would remember.

Instead of reconnecting their lips, Kirsten splayed her fingers across his chest, right in the center of his scar, and pushed him back. Cameron went willingly, convinced that any moment he’d wake up from this dream. Her hands drifted along his chest, his arms, his sides, eyes devouring every inch of skin she explored. Cameron gasped when she found a sensitive spot below his ribs and she smiled as if to say _I’ll be using this against you later_.  

He surged up to kiss her in an attempt to even the playing field, but she thwarted him with a single finger to his lips.

“Now, now, lover boy.” She said in a low drawl that had him feeling lightheaded.

She gave him a closed-lipped kiss, using her body weight to push him back against the mattress. Then she straightened, fingers slowly working at the buttons of her blouse. “You’ve got to be patient.”

He made an incredulous noise, “You started it.”

Kirsten laughed and he couldn’t decide whether to smile or groan. Finally – _finally_ – the buttons came undone. She didn’t have to ask because Cameron’s hands were already there, easing the fabric over her shoulders. He cast the garment aside, ready to kiss her senseless, but instead he froze.

The bandages were less egregious than when she’d first been released from the hospital. Her shoulder no longer needed to be immobilized, so a simple gauze pad – granted, it was the size of his palm – was enough. Gently, Cameron wove his hand around to her back, where there was a second pad covering the exit wound. The bullet may have come out clean, but from what Cameron could tell, the scar would be anything but.

Tears came to his eyes before he could stop them and he ducked his head hoping she wouldn’t notice. _Of course she did._

“Hey, hey, Cameron.” Her hands framed his face, running her thumbs along the rise of his cheeks. “I’m okay.”

He kept his eyes down and his fists at his sides, refusing to touch her. Kirsten sighed and shifted so that their foreheads were touching. Cameron tensed but didn’t pull away, didn’t resist when she took his hand and raised it to her heart. He kept his touch feather-light, still wary of bringing her discomfort, but the feeling of her heartbeat beneath his palm was calming.

“Feel that, Tinman?” Her voice was as soft as her smile. “I’m alright.”

He swallowed. “I know.”

And he did, truly. Kirsten had been making a steady recovery and medically she was well out of danger. That didn’t change the fact that she’d be branded for the rest of her life. She’d have to live with what that _monster_ did to her. Cameron was aware, perhaps subconsciously, that he would have to live with it, as well – a constant reminder that he’d almost lost her.

He shook his head, bringing himself back into reality. Kirsten crawled out of his lap and tucked herself against his side. His arms wove around her on their own accord and he kissed her temple. They sat like that for a while until Cameron decided she’d been waiting long enough.

“I’ve hated mine for such a long time.” He explained. Kirsten placed her hand over his scar as if to shield him from the memories. “I always felt like it… marked me. Weak. Fragile. Not strong enough… and _you,_ Kirsten Clark, are so strong. You shouldn’t have to be marked like me.”

Kirsten sighed, untangling herself from his arms and shifting so that they were eye to eye. He couldn’t look at her for a few moments so she sat quietly, taking his hands and stroking his knuckles with her thumb. When he did look at her Kirsten was glad he didn’t try and mask his expression. It was sad and maybe a little embarrassed, but also trusting.

“Cameron,” she said, “do you think I’m weak or fragile just because of this? Do you think it defines me?”

“No! No, of course not.”

A breath of a laugh escaped her. She couldn’t help it. If only Cameron defended himself half as fiercely as he defended her. She’d never have to worry about him again.

Kirsten folded her arms and pulled his hands against her chest, holding them tight. “Then it doesn’t define you, either.” She could tell he wanted to argue or look away, but he held fast. She kissed the top of his hand. “Cameron, you have the strongest heart I’ve ever known.”

That earned a smile – small and reluctant, but it felt like a victory. He grumbled, “You don’t exactly have a large subject pool, Stretch.”

“Oh hush.” She pulled him even closer, snuffing out the last millimeter of space between them. “You showed _me_ how to love, Cam. You don’t think that’s impressive?”

Cameron started to reply, then stopped. He probably had many things to say to that, but he settled on, “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Stretch.”

“We have that in common, then.”

He snorted, nuzzling his cheek into her hair. “God, I love you.”

Kirsten turned just a fraction. She could feel his breath on her lips. “Kiss me and prove it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so infinitely much for reading!


	27. Down the Rabbit Hole

Emily didn’t much care for milk. It was the only thing besides water they’d let her drink back at the Bad Place. It always made her fall asleep and the dreams of that sleep were always nightmares.

“They were drugging you, Emily.” Marta had tried to explain during their first week on the run. Emily had refused to eat or drink anything, afraid she would close her eyes and wake up back in the Bad Place. “They drugged you and kept you prisoner, but you’re free now.”

_Free now. Freedom. The Fourth of July. Susan got too drunk and threw Billy down the stairs. Billy cried. People came, people in suites. They took Emily away, took Billy away. They left her with Marcus. She doesn’t know what happened to Billy. Marcus was nice. Marcus let her drink pop and watch T.V. Marcus got in trouble at work. The people in suites came back, left her with Bob and Dawn and five other children whose names all blurred together. Bod and Dawn needed money. Bob and Dawn let a man in the house, a man with a black suitcase and cold eyes. He asked her a lot of questions. Bob and Dawn told her to go with him so he could ask her even more._

“Excuse me,” the waitress said, hovering over the other side of the counter.

Emily was still falling through the memories. She tried to find purchase, focus on what the girl, Amia, was saying.

“Haven’t touched your milk.” Amia pointed out, “Can I get you something else?”

Emily swallowed her leaden tongue and nodded, curling her arms around herself. Despite the promise of a warm June day, she burrowed further into her thick hoodie. Amia wasn’t offended by her silence. By now she understood that some days Emily could hold up a conversation, but today was not one of them.

“Want some coffee?” She shook her head. “Tea?” No. “Apple juice?”

Emily considered it and hummed affirmatively. Amia smiled – a genuinely kind smile that belonged in a fairytale – and disappeared to fetch the drink.

Emily wandered into this diner every few days, needing a break from her work and her solitude. The owner had kicked her out the first day, having no tolerance for her tattered clothes or unkempt hair. Amia stood up for her, telling the owner it wasn’t their place to turn away any paying customer, which Emily wasn’t, but that never became a problem. Amia let her sit at the counter and never once made her pick up the tab. It probably came out of the girl’s own earnings.

“There you go.” She said, setting the tall glass of apple juice on the counter. Emily accepted it, nodding once in thanks. As she drank, Amia eyed her appearance. “You’ve dyed your hair since the last time you were in here. I like it blonde.”

Emily did not respond. The dye had burned and smelled like chemicals. It didn’t come out a sweet golden blonde like Jacqueline Stinger’s. It was dull and pale like the petals of a wilted lily. Emily pulled a strand across her nose and studied it cross-eyed.

Amia giggled, “Careful. My mom always warned they’d get stuck like that.” She turned when one of the other customers barked at her. “I’ve got to go. Flag me if you need anything, ‘kay?”

 But Emily was already falling again.

0o0o0o0

“Alright Emily, I’m going to need you to sit very still for this part.” Jacqueline said, adjusting the headset.

Emily did as she was told, keeping her body still, but her eyes flew around the lab taking everything in. This room was new, much smaller than the ones they’d tested her in before. The light was warm instead of white and there were a few posters on the wall, all about different parts of the brain. She liked this room.

“I’m glad.” Jacqueline said, “Much better than that dingy basement, huh? Okay, sweetie, look straight ahead at the screen there. I’ll be showing you some different pictures and monitoring your brain’s response from the computer.”

The images came in flashes, bright colors and weird shapes that Emily didn’t think were supposed to look like anything. She sat there and let her mind wander while Jacqueline stared intently at her computer. Minutes ticked by before the screen went dark and Jacqueline rose to detach the monitor from Emily’s head.

“That was great, Em, really.” She said, putting the headset aside.

 “Good enough for candy?” Emily squeaked.

Jacqueline hushed her quickly, but she was smiling. “What did I say? That’s our little secret.” She pulled a lollipop out of her jacket pocket. “If the other scientists hear that I didn’t share my candy, they’ll get jealous.”

Emily nodded feverishly in a silent promise before stuffing the lolli into her mouth. Just then, the door to the lab opened and Jacqueline’s friend, Miss Baptiste walked in. Emily didn’t know what to make of Miss Baptiste. She was very beautiful, but she was also a little scary.

“Oh no.” Jacqueline sighed. “Now Maggie’s found us out. We’re done for.”

“Dr. Stinger.” Miss Baptiste said with a roll of her eyes, “I came to see how things were going.”

“They’re going fine, _Maggie._ ” She took a step away from Emily, lowering her voice. “Honestly, Mags, she’s a ten-year-old. There’s no need for so much formality.”

“It’s more of a matter of professionalism, _Dr. Stinger_.” Miss Baptiste glanced back at Emily, who was entertaining herself by moving her cheeks to make the lollipop stick wiggle. “May I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“How could I say no to that charm?” Jacqueline said flatly. “Wait in here, Em. I’ll be right back.”

The two women left the room and it didn’t take Emily more than three seconds to have her ear pressed against the door.

“ _Em?”_ Miss Baptiste hissed, “Jacqueline, what are you doing? You’re cuddling up to this kid like she’s your own daughter.”

“I’m treating her with some basic human decency. You know, like we expect our children to be treated?”

“She’s. Not. Our. Kid.  She is a test subject and when all of this is over she’ll go back to her foster family and you’ll never see her again.”

There was a long silence. Emily tried not to breathe too loud.

“What?” Jacqueline said, “What else? If you’ve got something to say – “

“You are too attached to her. If something goes wrong you’re not going to be able to handle it. I know you, Jac.”

“We’re months away from field testing.” Jacqueline said by way of dismissing Miss Baptiste’s concerns. Another silence and then, “Maggie?”

“Les wants to move forward. Start running field tests by the end of the month.”

“ _What?_ Maggie, that’s ludicrous. Les knows we’re not ready. The neural-sync is still unstable.”

“Dan’s been working on the algorithm. He thinks – “

“I know what he _thinks_. He thinks he can cut corners and still make it safe, but the fact is he can’t. If we don’t do this right, the neural stress could kill her.”

 _Me,_ Emily thought, _it could kill me._

“Jacqueline,” Miss Baptiste sighed, “I know that. Believe it or not, I know, and I don’t like it any more than you do. But you know how obsessed Les and Daniel can get. They’re not going to let this go, so either you keep coddling her or you make sure she’s prepared for the first trial.”

Emily was trembling. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach and so scared she could cry.

“Jac, please.” Miss Baptiste’s voice cracked. “I don’t want her to get hurt. Ed thinks he can get the mind map ready in time, with your help. I’ll try and buy more time with Les. We can do this right. Please.”

Jacqueline took a long moment to respond. “She’s not just a test subject, Maggie. She’s someone’s baby. Not ours, but someone’s. If the time comes and we’re not ready, Emily doesn’t sync. Understood?”

“Understood.”

But Emily knew it was a lie.

0o0o0o0

_Kirsten slipped noiselessly into the study. She didn’t need to be so sneaky – it’s not like she wasn’t allowed to be in here – but Mommy and Daddy had been arguing earlier and she didn’t feel like bothering them. All she wanted to do was play some chess._

_The computer revved to life and Kirsten was transfixed by the display of numbers, columns of green and blue covering the screen. She recognized the code but only understood the very basics of the digital language. Kirsten was smarter than to set a single finger on the keyboard. The last time she’d messed with her father’s work, she’d been banned from the computer for two whole weeks._

_She sat, studying the numbers, wondering what they meant, until the door slammed open, making her jump. Her father looked aghast._

_“I didn’t touch any- “ she started, but his hand was already around her wrist, yanking her to her feet._

_“What are you doing in here?” he bellowed, sounding totally unlike himself. “What did you do?”_

_“I-I didn’t…” Kirsten’s lip trembled as she tried to form words, “I just…”_

_“What did you do!”_

_“Daniel!”_

_Her mother seemed to just_ appear _between them, prying Daniel’s fingers off of Kirsten and pulling her daughter against her protectively._

_“She doesn’t know what any of it means, Daniel, for Christ’s sake.”_

_“She could have altered something.”_

_“Honestly Daniel, do you really feel like scarring two children today?”_

_Her father stilled, like he’d been reset. Jacqueline hoisted Kirsten into her arms, even though they’d said she was too big for that anymore. Kirsten shut her eyes tight, not wanting to look at her dad. She didn’t cry until her mom set her down in her bed and she knew he couldn’t hear her._

0o0o0o0

Kirsten took several more steps before she realized Cameron had disappeared from her side. She stopped and pivoted on the sidewalk. Cameron stood about ten feet behind her with his arms crossed and eyebrows cocked smugly.

He sighed as he closed the distance between them. “Well that confirms my theory that you’ve been zoned out since we left the rest stop.”

They’d decided to take a stroll through the dog park besides the building while Linus grabbed them food and Camille put gas in the van. Kirsten gave him an apologetic shrug.

“You alright, Baby Vamp?” he asked, arms weaving along the base of her spine. She couldn’t control the way her eyes fell closed, this level of physical closeness still leaving her mind in a haze.

“Yeah I’m fine.” She sighed. “Just thinking about last night.”

He tensed. “Was it okay?”

She furrowed her brows, confused, before she understood what he meant and laughed. “Oh, no I don’t mean us. That was definitely okay. That was _more_ than okay.” She smiled as he blushed, then she shook her head. “I’m thinking about what I remembered last night.”

“Ah yes, the flashback that had you up at three in the morning scribbling code onto the hotel napkins.”

The humor couldn’t completely hide his worry. She moved her hands from his neck to his cheeks and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Just another puzzle piece, right?”

“Right.” He echoed.

They stood entwined for what Kirsten was certain had to be a long time. Cameron’s eyes never left her face, hardly blinking. She wondered if he was taking the moment to do what temporal dysplasia allowed her to do in an instant, memorize everything about her.

Sometimes Kirsten would recall different snapshots of Cameron that her mind had stored with perfect clarity. She’d study them, try to decipher the details of his expressions. Once she made a discovery – the way his jaw works when he’s upset, the way he fidgets when he’s excited – it was as if she’d always know this part of him. She kept finding new things to discover, new mysteries to solve. It was perplexing how she could want to know everything about him and still crave these little surprises.

“We should probably get back.” She said, even though she’d happily ignore the rest if the world if he’d join her.

Cameron sucked in a breath. “Maybe.” He leaned impossibly closer. “Or I could kiss you until Camille comes to yell at us.”

She tried to suppress a grin. “I’m not opposed to that idea.” The second before their lips met, she drew back. “That reminds me.” Cameron groaned. “We should grab some condoms from the pharmacy across the street.”

His annoyed expression immediately vanished. “Yeah?”

This time she did smirk, pulling out of his embrace and starting back up the sidewalk. “If you thought last night was fun, Potsie, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”


	28. The Mirage Gift Shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is so overdue, but thank you for being patient and sticking with me. Hopefully I'll be able to commit to a regular posting schedule over the summer.

Arriving in Lake Leah should have been the easiest part of the plan, so naturally they messed it up. Cameron, Kirsten, and Linus sat shoulder to shoulder in the back seat of the tow truck while Camille rode upfront with the driver, John, who was much more talkative than any of them felt like pretending to be.

“Lucky y’all broke down just outside of town. I was getting ready to close up for the night.”

“Camille could have fixed it.” Kirsten said without thinking.

Her roommate glowered into the rearview mirror. “That’s what I said.”

Linus – knowing her glare was directed at him – threw his hands up. “I didn’t want to take any chances. This is my parents’ van.”

Camille gave him a petulant look before slumping further into the passenger seat.

John seemed unperturbed by this, carrying on with a smile. “My partner back at the shop loves these vintage cars. She’ll have the motor fixed in ten minutes but talk to ya for fifty.”

He chattered on for another mile before the road dipped and they plunged into a lush forest. Lavender sky poked through the trees, reminding Kirsten of storybook illustrations. She sunk into her seat – as much as she could in the cramped space – and leaned her head against Linus’ shoulder. He clunked his head against hers and they shared a deep breath. Her opposite hand snuck in between her and Cameron, threading their fingers together. When they broke through the tree line a brightly colored sign reading _The Oasis of Southern Oregon_ was waiting.

Linus raised his head and followed the sign as it disappeared behind them. “We are a _go_ for Operation Wildfire.”

His eyes met Camille’s in the mirror and he gave her a wink. She shook her head and looked away, failing to suppress a smile. Cameron squeezed Kirsten’s hand and worried his thumb against her knuckles. She faced him and was a little surprised at how truly scared he looked. There was a question in his eyes, though, like all she had to do was nod and he would trust her.

She brought their joined hands to her lips and murmured against his skin, “It’s going to be okay” softly, so only he could hear.

Anything Cameron did or said after that was lost to her because all she could see was light – bright, glittering twilight dancing across the lake. Memories sparked and fizzled in her brain: Sunday picnics along the shore, collecting rocks and oddly shaped sticks, spending hours in the dirt looking for fossils. Her father had a big hat he’d wear whenever it was sunny and her mother would make daisy chains to put in her hair. Kirsten strangled Cameron’s hand without meaning to, overwhelmed by the feeling of… of…

His arm snaked around her – an impressive feat in the confined space. He pulled her in, his nose brushing against the arch of her cheek.

“Breathe, Stretch.” He whispered. Kirsten didn’t take her eyes off the water, but mimicked Cameron as he drew deep, even breaths. 

The sensation loosened its grip and the sharp new memories slowly faded into more familiar ones: her and Ed spending entire Saturdays watching documentaries, Megan playing piano while Kirsten did homework on her living room floor.

Pressing deeper into Cameron’s side, Kirsten said thoughtfully, “Megan’s wife Lana was really outdoorsy. They’d go on these camping trips all the time and she’d bring back cool stones for me. I think she always hoped I’d be like her and become a geologist.”

Linus snorted and everyone shot him a look.

“What? The image of _Kirsten_ ,” he mimed typing on a keyboard, “digging around in the dirt for a living isn’t funny to any of you?”

“I’ve seen her reach into the stomach of a cadaver without being prompted.” Cameron said. “Dirt seems like an upgrade.”

John awkwardly cleared his throat, reminding the four of them that he was still there. “What exactly is it y’all do for a living?”

They responded in unison. “Video games.”

0o0o0o0

John’s partner certainly lived up to her reputation. The repairs had been completed in fifteen minutes, but she’d been talking to Linus for the last twenty. His smile – while obviously fake – was still kind in a way that Kirsten envied.

Camille followed her line of sight and whispered, “He gets a lot of practice with his extended family.” Then she untied the hoodie around her waist and threw it on. “I’m starving. There should be a late night pizzeria in the center of town.”

“Wow,” Kirsten said, “you really planned ahead.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I’m just…” she glanced aside to make sure Cameron wasn’t paying attention, “winging it.” Camille raised her eyebrow and Kirsten bristled defensively, “I’m a woman of action, not plans.”

“You know there’s this thing called a _plan of action_ , right?”

Kirsten rolled her eyes, “Oh shut up. It’s an adventure.”

“Yippy.” Camille grumbled, turning to Cameron. “Food.”

He came close and whispered, “You guys go ahead. I’m going to stay here and cover the repairs.” Kirsten smiled at him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a good friend.”

“The best.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll order you a slice with extra peppers.”

“Thanks, Baby Vamp.” He said quickly as Camille took her by the arm and dragged her out the door.

Tourist hub or not, the town of Lake Leah was not very big. They passed a lot of quaint little shops that reminded Kirsten of the bakery Fisher’s parents ran. She wondered what her family had been like here. Were they well liked? Did they keep to themselves? Had she had friends here? The questions burned in her gut, her brain itching for a distraction.

“So,” she ventured, which Camille answered with a cautionary glare, “how was last night?”

A shrug. “Fine.”

“Did you guys talk?”

“Yeah.” Her face gave nothing away, but Kirsten noticed her fists clenching and unclenching in her pockets. Camille caught her staring and sighed. “Linus is a good guy.”

“Yes.”

“He should be with someone good.” 

Kirsten nudged her. “You’re good.” Camille didn’t answer, so she said, “He loves you.”

“I know.”

“And you love him.”

“I _know_.”

“Okay,” Kirsten put her hands up, “I’m just saying.”

“ _I’m just saying_.” Camille echoed in a nasally voice before stopping dead on the sidewalk.

Her eyes were fixed on a store window displaying everything from bobble heads to nicer looking jewelry. _Mirage Gift Shop_ was spelled out in gold paint on the surface of the glass. Camille tugged frantically on Kirsten’s sleeve.

“Can we?” she asked, her previous irritation apparently forgotten.

Kirsten eyed the store suspiciously. “You don’t find it weird that a gift shop is open this late?”

“Oh I do, but I don’t know how crazy things are going to get from here on out and I _need_ to pick up a postcard for Getti.” At her roommate’s puzzled expression, Camille explained, “She collects them.”

Kirsten wanted to ask if it was normal for “just friends” to buy gifts for each other’s parents, but she didn’t feel like getting into an actual argument, so she pulled out her phone and sent Cameron a quick text.

10:19 PM STRETCH 

CAMILLE IS MESSING AROUND IN A JUNK SHOP. YOU MIGHT BEAT US TO THE RESTAURANT.

10:19 PM GIRLFRIEND

WHY IS CAMILLE IN A JUNK SHOP? WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?

10:20 PM STRETCH

IT’S NO BIG DEAL. WE’LL BE THERE SOON. DON’T FREAK OUT. <3

She watched the message icon fade in and out as he typed and retyped and retyped his response. She thought of the way he’d look at her in the car, fear woven into every line of his face. Still, he’d been willing to follow her lead. He still trusted her.

10:21 PM GIRLFRIEND

  1. PLEASE BE CAREFUL. ILY



Guilt and affection entwined so deeply in her stomach she felt unsteady.  Shaking her head, Kirsten unhinged herself from the entryway, allowing the door to shut with a spine-tingling creak.

Camille rasped her knuckles against the vacant counter. “Hello, anybody here?” Kirsten peered deeper into the shop. Organized chaos was probably the most generous descriptor she could come up with. Camille cleared her throat and tried again. “The sign says _open_.”

There was the sound of muffled footsteps, something shifting, and a man’s voice calling, “Hello! Yes, hello. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

A side door marked _employees only_ burst open, making Camille – and yes, maybe Kirsten – jump. The man was older, his back slightly hunched and his grey hair pulled into two loose braids. He seemed to have exerted himself, his breath coming out in uneven puffs.

“Welcome… to the _Mirage… Gift Shop_.” He panted. “Name’s Jesse. What can I… do for you?”

Camille frowned apologetically. “Hi, sorry, we thought you were open.”  

“Says it on the sign, doesn’t it?” Jesse wheezed a laugh.

Camille shot Kirsten an uneasy look, but the blonde merely shrugged. She may have been garbage at understanding people’s emotions, but their intentions were usually easy to tell. Jesse wasn’t a threat – not to them, anyway. There was certainly enough evidence to suggest the early stages of hoarding disorder, but that was the kind of observation Kirsten had been told to keep to herself.

“My friend is looking for a postcard.” She said. Camille blanched.

“Oh, wonderful. They’re in the back, here.” Jesse turned and slowly began navigating through the clutter to the back of the store.

Kirsten had to give Camille a bit of a push, but eventually she went, muttering under her breath, “Getti owes me, big time.”

Once she was alone, Kirsten took the opportunity to stretch out her shoulder. Hours in the van plus the time she’d spent sandwiched into the back of the tow truck had made her sore down to her marrow. The stitches had also begun to itch like mad, but Kirsten didn’t want to tell Cameron. She knew that in some strange way he felt responsible for what had happened.

_It is my job to keep you safe._

Kirsten couldn’t help but groan. That memory came with far too many emotions that she was too tired and too sore and too hungry to deal with. So she perused the display cases at the front of the store, admiring the necklaces and earrings that were clearly handmade. Instead of being finely cut, the stones looked raw and imperfect. Thin strips of metal had been delicately woven around each stone, clinging to them like vines.

The harsh sound of Jesse’s breathing pulled Kirsten’s thoughts away. His tan skin was flushed red and his chest was heaving, but he smiled when their eyes met.

“Are you alright?” Kirsten asked hesitantly.

Jesse waved her off. “Bah, don’t go pestering me, now. I get enough of that at home from my granddaughter.” He coughed violently into his sleeve but tried to divert her attention away from it. “What brings you to the lake?”

“Just visiting. I was…” Kirsten stared intently at a pair of amethyst earrings. “I was born here, actually.”

“No kidding? Well, glad to have you back.”

“Thank you.” It was her turn to change the subject, tapping a finger against the display case. “Do you make these yourself?”

“Sure do. I come from a family of nimble fingers. Mama taught me everything I know.”

Kirsten nodded, an idea slowly taking shape in her mind. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the piece of quartz. “Can you do that with this?”

Jesse accepted the rock from her, examining it closely. “That’s gorgeous. Find this by the lake, did you?”

“No, my boyfriend gave it to me.” Her heart still fluttered at the word.

“Ah, to be young and in love again.” Jesse said wistfully, settling himself behind the counter and pulling out a tool box that looked like it’d seen better days. “I can have it done by tomorrow if you want it real fancy like I have in the case there, or I can make it real simple. Should only take me ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Simple is fine. I just need something to keep me from losing it.”

Kirsten chose the bronze-colored metal over the silver and Jesse got right to work. She thought of what Cameron’s reaction would be when he saw it and couldn’t fight the grin that spread over her face. Camille emerged from the back, looking just as pleased with herself.

“What do you think?” She pulled one hand from behind her back and showed Kirsten the postcard she’d picked out.

“Nice.”

“ _And_ ,” her other hand produced two shots glasses with _Lake Leah_ written on them.

Jesse laughed. “Classic.”

Kirsten was less impressed. “No.”

Camille’s lips twisted into a smirk, gearing up for some witty comeback when the front door flew open, groaning on its hinges. A teenage girl stomped into the store, shoulders hunched and brows creased. She gave the two of them a brief, disapproving look before snapping her eyes to Jesse.

“What are they doing here?” she hissed.

Kirsten realized before Jesse even responded that this was his granddaughter. She had the same sharp features that he did and thick black hair that probably matched Jesse’s in his youth.

The old man never looked up from what he was doing. “Amia, that’s no way to speak to customers.”

“You should have been closed _hours_ ago. I came home after my shift and Mom said you never showed up.”

“Your mother worries too much, and so do you. I’ll close up whenever I damn well please.”

Amia tightened her jaw and looked up at the ceiling as if she’d heard this a hundred times before. “And your doctor wonders why you aren’t sleeping.” She grumbled, practically ripping the _open_ sign off of the door and flipping it over.

Jesse still didn’t react as she buzzed around the shop, tidying up and locking display cases. Kirsten and Camille exchanged guilty looks.

“So how much for these and the necklace?” Camille said, placing the postcard and shot glasses on the counter.

Kirsten shook her head. “You’re not paying for the necklace.”

Camille rolled her eyes. “Kirsten, can you please let someone be nice to you, just once?”

She would have responded, but she saw Jesse’s hands still out of the corner of her eye and when she turned to him, his mouth was hanging agape.

“Something wrong?”

“That’s where I know you from!” he exclaimed, immediately having to double over in a cough. He straightened, smiling brightly. “You’re the Stingers’ little girl, aren’t you?”

Kirsten’s heart plummeted into her stomach, a sick feeling of weightlessness she’d only ever experienced during a stitch. She couldn’t formulate thought, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Camille’s hand on her arm was the only thing tying her to reality.

“You knew the Stingers?” Camille said, voice wavering slightly.

“Of course I did! Gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you earlier. You look just like Jaqueline.”

“Really?” Kirsten gasped, taking Camille’s hand as if that would keep her from falling apart.

“Absolutely. See you’ve still got your daddy’s eyes, though.”

That sobered her like a blast of ice water. Straightening, Kirsten replied gruffly. “Thank you.”

Amia came back into the front of the store and slipped behind the counter beside her grandfather. Jesse said to her, “This woman used to live in that house at the end of Ashby Road.”

She gave Kirsten an appraising look. “Really? You couldn’t pay me to live there.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Amia shrugged. “I’m not usually superstitious, but that place is definitely haunted. No one’s lived there in years, but people have claimed to see this guy in a trench coat skulking around. Some say he’s a ghost, other people think he’s an ax murder that stores his victims in the cellar of the house.”

Camille gulped. “The guys are going to love this.”

Kirsten didn’t say anything for a minute, pacing back and forth across the front of the shop. It couldn’t have been her father. He wouldn’t have been dumb enough to return to their family house; it was probably the first place Turner looked for him after the accident. No, it wasn’t her father, but who then?

“Amia, how often do people claim to see this man?”

She seemed surprised, but answered. “I don’t know, every couple of months. Hasn’t been anything recently, though.”

Ed’s business trips – what he said were business trips – every few months, like clockwork. It was too crazy, the timing too perfect.

“The trench coat,” Kirsten insisted, “have people mentioned any details about it?”

“Um, yeah? The bottom is like _seriously_ stained, which I guess supports the ax murder theory.”

Far from it. Kirsten had accidentally dragged it through the mud one Halloween when she’d dressed up as a detective. 

“It’s not as bad as that abandoned shack off the freeway.” Jesse said offhandedly. “I get the creeps every time I drive by it.”

Kirsten was hardly listening, her mind running at warp speed. Why had Ed not told her about this place? What had he been hiding? Had Megan known, is that why he gave her the book?

Camille grabbed one of the maps off the counter and unfolded it, reading aloud, “Ashby Road. Can I borrow a pen, Jesse?” and traced the route. “Thanks…for everything, really, but we’ve got to get going.”

“And he’s got to get home.” Amia muttered.

“Alright, alright.” He huffed, putting the shot glasses and the postcard in a paper bag. He turned to Kirsten and held out his hand. “For you, my dear.”

Despite herself, Kirsten smiled. It wasn’t flashy like the ones in the display case. A single band of metal wrapped around the top of the stone which was attached to a matching chain. She took the necklace from him, fastening the clasp at the back of her neck, already feeling better with the stone’s weight against her sternum.

“It’s beautiful, Jesse. Thank you.”

“Anything for Jacqueline Stinger’s girl.” He beamed, unaware that everything inside her just turned to I ice. “How’s she doing, by the way?”

Camille visibly tensed beside her, but Kirsten said calmly, “She’s great.”

It wasn’t until they were outside that Kirsten realized she was shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand another apology because I forgot how to write an ending. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I'm working on the next few chapters but may not have them posted until May.


	29. Time To Go Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is twice the size of my regular chapters because you've been waiting long enough, so thanks for that.

“ _Finally._ ” Linus huffed, sinking deep into the passenger seat as they pulled out of the repair shop. “I’ve never met anyone who can talk as much as – “

“You?” Cameron guessed.

Linus narrowed his eyes. “I was going to say Camille.”

Cameron nodded, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Glancing sideways at his friend he gently probed. “So… how’d things go last night?”

A grin burst across Linus’s face – the mirthful, easy kind of grin that he wore when he was trying to be funny– but it quickly softened, as if he’d decided against making a joke.

“We just hung out, you know, like we used to before everything got…” he shrugged, “complicated. It was nice.”

His mouth wrestled with things he left unsaid: how Camille had smiled at him so differently that night, somehow both relieved and sad at the same time. How much he’d missed waking up next to her, hair a mess and sentences hardly coherent. After everything that they’d been through in the past few weeks, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to experience that again. The fact that they could still be close, still be friends was a relief. It felt like some kind of victory.  

Clearing his throat, Linus changed to subject. “How was _your_ night?”

Cameron fought down a smile, hoping the darkness would hide the blush creeping up his neck. “It was fine.”

Linus hummed, unmoved. After a beat, he ventured, “Did you guys…?”

“No! Dude, we didn’t have anything.”

Linus blinked. “Any what?”

Cameron raised a disbelieving eyebrow, as if to say _seriously?_ When Linus still didn’t get it, Cameron sighed. “Condoms, genius.”

“Oh…” For a moment, Cameron thought her was going to drop it. Then he said with faux apathy, “So what _did_ you do?”

“Dude!”

“Okay, okay!” Linus threw up his hands and inched further back into his seat. “Never mind, sorry.”

The awkward silence that hung between them wasn’t helped by Cameron’s whirlwind of thoughts, unable to stay away from last night. The feeling of Kirsten’s hands on him, her delicate breaths at odds with the forcefulness of her hands. He hadn’t lasted long at all, and normally that would leave him mortified, but this was _Kirsten._ Kirsten who’d smiled at him, kissed him, told him she loved him before falling asleep against his chest. He was too happy to feel embarrassed. Linus was probably very confused as to why Cameron, who had snapped at him just minutes before, was now grinning like an idiot, but that was fine.

The pizzeria wasn’t deserted, but open enough that Cameron could relax. He didn’t trust crowds anymore, just like he didn’t trust elevators or doctors or women with grey eyes. Irrational? Sure. Paranoid? No doubt, but there was no helping it, not until Black Berry was locked up for good. Not until he could look upon her face and guarantee _you will never hurt Kirsten again._

Linus went up to the counter to order while Cameron found an empty booth near the back. The smooth jazz pouring from the jukebox couldn’t sooth his relentless fidgeting. He was engaged in an intense staring contest with the front door when Linus returned.

He shook his head, slipping onto the opposite bench. “You need to chill, man. They’re fine.”

“I know.” But Cameron didn’t look away until Linus cleared his throat. “I know!” He protested.

A bell chimed above the front door and he visibly perked up, then immediately deflated seeing that it was someone leaving the restaurant, not coming in. Some gentleman held the door for a woman in a wheelchair before returning to his own table. Cameron watched her through the windows. Her hair was platinum and she wore thick glasses, but that’s about all he could discern at this distance.

“Dude,” Linus interjected, sounding more than a little fed up. “You’re shaking the whole table with your foot tapping.” He flattened his palms together, his way of telling Cameron _please shut up and listen to me._ “You trust her, right?”

“Yeah?”

“You think she can handle herself?”

“Yeah, of course, but- “

“ _Buh, buh, buh!_ No buts. You trust her. You know she’s capable. End of story. Calm down.”

Linus understood that he was being painfully blunt, maybe even crude, but sometimes that was the only way to reach Cameron.

His friend curled his fingers into fists, no doubt trying not to fidget. “I’ll be calm when we find what Ed left for Kirsten and get the hell out of this town.”

Linus looked around the pizzeria absently. “It seems pretty nice… the town, I mean.”

“Lots of things _seem_ nice.” Cameron grumbled. It was a little cynical, even for him.

With a start, Linus thought of Camille, how she kept insisting there was something terrible underneath the surface, something he’d abandon her for if he saw. Not once had he even considered that it would be true. He still didn’t believe it, but Cameron’s words had him thinking. What would he be willing to overlook? How many demons would he be willing to face in order to be with her?

As if summoned by his thoughts, the bell rang again and the girls wandered in. They both moved too hesitantly, looked too uneasy for Linus to miss it.

Cameron was ready to jump out of his skin. “What’s wrong?”

Kirsten waved him off, slipping into the booth beside him. “I need food before I can talk about it.”

Her hand seemed to move unconsciously to her sternum where a pink stone sat suspended on a metal chain. Linus cocked his head. “What’s that?”

Kirsten realized what she was doing and grinned, a bit smug. “It’s my keepsake from The Mirage Gift Shop.”

She looked at Cameron, who stared at it with wide eyes – both confused and elated, like he’d discovered a new element. “Is that…?” He trailed off wistfully and Kirsten nodded, her smile brightening.

It was hard not to mirror her expression. Linus turned aside to Camille and found her studying the two of them. She didn’t look mad, per say, but deep in thought. Her eyebrows scrunched in a stubborn angle, trying to figure out the problem that lay before her. What she was thinking, Linus couldn’t begin to know.

He leaned into her space, pulling her out of whatever rabbit hole she’d fallen into. She countered his smirk by narrowing her eyes defiantly, as if daring him to ask what was on her mind. Instead, Linus eyed the paper bag she’d placed on the table.

“What do you have there?” he said, suspicious.

Finally, Camille cracked a smile, dramatically reaching in and extracting two shot glasses. Linus snorted as she stowed them away and passed him a postcard. It was an aerial view of the lake with the town buildings scattered around it. _Greetings from Lake Leah, Oregon_ was written across the top in red font.

“Think your mom will like it?” Camille said, shimmying further into the booth so that their legs were flush against each other.

Linus tried to swallow the emotion in his throat and ignore the warmth stirring in his chest. “Yeah.” The breathlessness in his own voice surprised him. “She’ll love it.”

He could have stared at her forever if they hadn’t realized at the same moment where they were and who they were with. Kirsten and Cameron were grinning smugly at them and then at each other, the sign of an inside joke if Linus had ever seen one. He and Camille were saved from having to explain themselves when the food arrived.

Two refills of vanilla cola later, Kirsten was ready to talk.

“The man who owned the gift shop, Jesse? He knew my parents while they lived here.”

Camille took her cue to produce the map she’d gotten before they left. “Kirsten’s old house.” Her fingers traced along Ashby Road until they were some ways outside of town. “Apparently it’s haunted.”

Linus blanched while Cameron just looked bored.

“Listen,” Kirsten insisted, “this girl said that locals have reported sightings of a man on the property every few months until last summer when they just stopped, suddenly.” The guys continued to stare at her, following but not understanding. She tried not to groan. “Ed would take these ‘business trips’ every other month, like clockwork, and the sightings stopped around the time of his death.”

Now they seemed to grasp what she was getting at, though neither of them looked convinced. Cameron gave the hand on her knee a reassuring squeeze that only served to make her mad.

“Stretch – “

“I _know_ it was him, Cam. We have to check it out.”

She waited until he shook his head in defeat and rose from the table. They paid at the register and piled into the car with Cameron at the wheel and Camille navigating in the passenger’s seat. They were all absorbed in their own thoughts and fears. No one noticed the girl in the shadows, staring at them over the rim of her glasses.

0o0o0o0

Kirsten was supposed to be alone. That’s how the stories always went. The princess spends her life alone in an ivory tower awaiting her true love to come and rescue her, only this was Emily’s story. There wouldn’t be any true love’s kiss or happy ending. This was Emily’s story, and Emily’s story said Kirsten was supposed to be alone.

That’s what should have happened in the apartment building. That’s what should have happened at the hospital, but the man – the puppeteer, Cameron – just wouldn’t _leave._ He was going to ruin everything. Marta should have shot him when she had the chance.

_No, no. Bad luck. Don’t think about Marta. Marta was wrong. Marta was weak. That’s why she had to die. She had to. She was going to ruin everything. She had to die._

_Stay calm. Stay calm. Everything will be fine. It’s a game of chess, that’s all. Three pawns left until you can get to the queen._

She had to get rid of them, somehow, or at least separate Kirsten from the pack. Emily had wanted to do this quietly, but they wanted her to bare her teeth. She ran her tongue over her lips, already tasting the blood.

0o0o0o0

Maybe Kirsten had built it up too much in her head. Maybe she’d been naïve to expect a white picket fence and a basketball hoop in the driveway. Maybe it’s because they’d arrived in the middle of the night. Maybe it’s the fact that they were alone at the end of a long dirt road, the closest neighbor at least a mile away. Any of these things could have been contributing to Kirsten’s utter disappointment.

She felt like an asshole for thinking it, especially with her friends risking their lives for her, but that was the only word for what she was feeling. She’d been expecting her childhood home to bring forth a rush of sensation, like what had come over her when she first saw the lake. She’d expected to be overwhelmed with memories; her mother, her father, what it felt like to be a family. But now, standing on the porch of her family’s old house, that’s all it was, all it had ever been: a house.

“You alright, Stretch?” Cameron squeezed her hand, but she didn’t need it. She felt nothing.

“Yeah.” She said, not even baring a glance at him as she used Ed’s key to open the door.

There was nothing warm about this place. It was merely the skeleton of a former life. There were no pictures, no books, no toys or anything to suggest that her family had ever lived here. The floor plan was open and even in the darkness Kirsten could see the dining room was much the same as the foyer. Save for a couch, a dining table and two chairs, the space was empty.

Cameron was at her side, taking in the interior, but mostly just watching her. Linus followed reluctantly. Before Camille even crossed the threshold, she was groping along the side of the door frame for a light switch. She found it and to everyone’s surprise, it worked. Their heads immediately snapped up to the ceiling and then back to Camille.  

She flicked them on and off a few times for good measure. “Pretty sure abandoned properties don’t have working electricity.”

Kirsten turned away, eyes narrowing at the fireplace along the opposite wall. She ran her hand along the mantel piece and studied her fingertips.

“Dust.” She said over her shoulder to Cameron. “Some, but definitely not twenty years’ worth.” He said nothing. “Cameron, it _has_ to be Ed.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He said quickly, though she could see him struggling with what he was really thinking. Taking a measured breath, he said, “Ed was definitely here. We’re in the right place, it’s just… Stretch, anything could have happened since he’s been gone. What if Black Berry’s already found this place? What if whatever Ed left for you here is gone?” He lowered his voice and looked at her earnestly. “I don’t want you getting your hopes too high, babe.”

 _Too late_ , she nearly snarled, but the flash of anger immediately gave way to numbness. Cameron made a good point: maybe there was nothing here. Maybe this place – and the memories here – really were dead, waiting to decay into the soil.

Kirsten pushed passed Cameron – definitely not avoiding eye contact because that would have been childish – and thundered up the stairs.

“And we’re going upstairs, cool.” Cameron muttered behind her.

The second floor was just as empty as the first: one master bedroom, with an adjoining bathroom and walk-in closet; one guest bedroom; a tiny hall closet, and Kirsten’s bedroom. Well, she assumed it was her bedroom. It was the smallest with a twin bed tucked into the corner. The walls were a jarring green, and Kirsten wondered what strings her four-year-old-self had to pull to make that happen.

Cameron hissed. “Honey, I love you, but I’m never letting you chose a color scheme.”

Despite the hollowness inside her, Kirsten managed a smile. “For what, darling?”

As if he’d just realized what he said, Cameron’s eyes widened. “Uh… nothing. Nothing, I just thought… you know, _if_ we were to ever… move in… together – which is a big if! – no pressure or anything… I just…”

Kirsten was laughing before she could really think about it, waving her hands up in surrender. “Please, please stop. This is hard to watch.”

He rolled his eyes, more than a little embarrassed, but her laughter seemed to put him at ease. He hopped onto the bed, its plastic covering crinkling loudly under his weight. As Kirsten paced the room – from the closet, to the window and back again – Cameron tapped nervously on the bed post.

“Hey, Kirst?”

“Yeah?” She said, squinting to see into the backyard.

Cameron was making a conscious effort not to fidget. “Remember when I was on the phone with my dad, that first morning you were home?” She nodded, very aware that he just referred to his apartment as _home._ “Well, he was telling me about a property he and Mom just bought in Sicile.”

Kirsten playfully rolled her eyes. “You’re _so_ rich.”

“Anyway,” he deadpanned, “he mentioned that they were going there next month for a few weeks and invited me to join… along with anyone I happened to want to bring.”

Kirsten stopped pacing, processed, then turned to face him. He had an awkward grin on his face, like a picture frame that’d been hung crooked and no one bothered to fix.

“You want me to come on vacation with you and your family?”

“Well – “

“To Sicile? For three weeks?”

“Uh – “

“And you decided now was a good time to ask me?”

“Shit, never mind.” Cameron huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he slid off the bed.

He was almost at the door when she grabbed him by the elbow. “Cam, wait.” Her hand slid down his arm and wrapped around his wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I just… I can’t think about vacationing in Sicile right now.” _Or meeting your parents. “_ Not until all of this is over. Once we find Ed’s thing and Black Berry is in custody, then we can talk about it, okay?”

Cameron looked at her intently for a few moments before sighing. “Yeah, okay, you’re right. Solve mystery, then vacation. That’s fair.”

She smoothed over whatever discord remained between them with a kiss. She started to pull away when his arms snaked around her waist and he reconnected their lips. She gasped as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sending shock waves through her. Her hands hovered in midair for a moment, completely stupefied, before they finally found purchase in his hair.

His legs pushed her back until her body collided with the door frame. Her shoulder pulsed angrily and she grimaced. Cameron pulled back sharply.

He blinked rapidly as if he were rebooting and took a step back. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Kirsten didn’t even have time to question him because Linus’ voice came reverberating up the stairs. “Guys!”

She didn’t wait for Cameron to come back to himself, just ran down the stairs and into the foyer. The couch was now askew from the wall. In its place was a latch door, no more than two feet wide. Her eyes darted between the door, Linus, and Camille, who was standing with her hips cocked and her arms crossed.

“How’d you know to move the couch?”

“Woman’s intuition.” Camille shrugged.

Linus shot her a look. “You dropped an earring and made _me_ move the couch to look for it.”

She pinched him and he swatted at her hand. Kirsten found it hard to pay any attention to them, drawing closer to the door as if it were magnetic. She vaguely registered that Cameron had joined them, but it was a distant thought behind _this is it. This is it!_ She knelt down and pulled at the lock.

Linus looked between the three of them. “Can anyone pick a lock?”

Cameron scoffed. “Why would you ask that?”

“You guys have surprisingly wide skill sets.”

“I can pick it.” Camille said flatly.

Everyone turned to her expectantly, but she simply turned and walked out the front door. There was the sound of something shifting in the front yard. Linus was about to go after her when she returned carrying a large stone in one hand. Before anyone was able to process what was happening, Camille was kneeling down beside the door and bringing the rock down hard onto the lock. It took three strikes and the lock cracked in two.

Camille straightened, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. When she looked up, six wide eyes were gawking at her.

“What?”

Linus approached her slowly. “Put. The rock. Down.”  

She rolled her eyes. “You guys are such babies.”

Whatever retort Linus had begun to say died in the air when Kirsten yanked the door open with an ear-splitting creak. Everyone jumped back except for Kirsten who was leaning closer, peering into the darkness.

“Kirsten.” Cameron protested, but she’d already spotted the ladder and was moving to get a foothold. “Kirsten!”

“What?” she seethed.

He spoke carefully. “Let me go first, okay?”

“Here.” Camille said, shrugging off her back pack and tossing him a flashlight.

He caught it and joined Kirsten at the edge. Despite every nerve in her body bursting with energy, she sobered long enough to realize what exactly he was doing and what it meant.

“Be careful.” She said as he slowly made his way down the ladder. He glanced up, nodded once, then kept going.

Camille and Linus had shifted to the edge, now, all of them staring at Cameron as if they’re eyes would ward off any dangers hiding in the dark. There was a moment where he’d completely disappeared and in the span of a second, Kirsten imagined a thousand different ways to lose him. Then there was a hardy thud as Cameron jumped from the ladder and the flashlight flickered to life.

“What do you see?” Linus asked.

“It’s some kind of cellar.” He spun around. “There’s just boxes everywhere.”

Kirsten was already halfway down the ladder. “They’re not _just_ boxes. Ed locked them up for a reason.” She hopped down and made a B-line for the first box she saw.

“ _Phase One?”_ Cam read over her shoulder. “Phase one of what?”

They both turned to the other shelf and noticed that most of the boxes were also labeled _Phase One_. Camille joined them and Linus followed her, using the flashlights built into their phones.  

“This has all got to be pre-Stitchers stuff, right?” Camille said, opening one of the boxes and rifling through it. She pulled out one of the files and read aloud. “ _Test Subject 32A: Ian Wilson._ ” She flipped through the other pages. “It’s got his birth certificate, his medical history... oh man.”

“What?” Linus said.

“He went into the foster system when he was three.” She kept skimming. “There’s info on every home he’s ever stayed at.”

Linus pulled another file out of the box. “ _Test Subject 31G: Cheyenne Crawford._ Same deal: birth certificate, medical records, foster system.” He turned to the end of the file. “Results: inconclusive.” Attached to the back of the page was a brain scan. He spoke to Cameron. “The frontal lobe is highlighted.”

“Yeah.” He squinted at the image, then looked at the other files. “We’re going to have to look through these.”

“No duh.” Camille said.

He glared at her. “I mean tomorrow. It’s after midnight and we’ve been driving all day. If we’re going to find answers in here, we need our sleep.”

 Kirsten continued to look around, taking the flashlight from Cameron and heading deeper into the cellar. She passed by shelf after shelf, some containing computer hardware, but most just storing more boxes. She stopped in front of an old monitor and dusted off the screen. In its reflection she noticed something strange on the shelf behind her.

It looked like a walkie-talkie, with a thick antennae fitted on the top, but there were no nobs to switch between channels. There was only a single switch, and Kirsten immediately recognized it. Ed had been tinkering with it in the garage. It was a few weeks after she’d moved in with him.

_“Who do you want to talk to?” She asked, playing with one of the loose circuits._

_Ed seemed confused by her question, then laughed. “Oh, this isn’t a radio, Kirsten.” But he didn’t offer any further explanation._

_“What’s it for, then?”_

_He smiled. “Well, hopefully it’ll be able to guide someone home.”_

Kirsten flipped the switch and a small light below the antennae light up red. She waited for something to happen, she wasn’t sure what.

“Hey Nancy Drew,” Cameron called, his voice drawing closer. Kirsten looked around frantically for somewhere to stash the remote. “You okay back there?” He came around the corner just as she was fitting the lid back onto the box. “Find something?”

“Just more files.” She shrugged. “You’re right, we’ll sort through it tomorrow.” She knew if he studied her face any longer he’d snuff out the lie, so she quickly closed the distance between them and kissed him. “Let’s go to bed.” She whispered.

0o0o0o0

“I didn’t do it!” was the first thing out of Liam’s mouth when all the monitors in the basement blacked out.

Daniel’s head snapped up from his notes. Gaping confusion gave way to unfiltered horror. “What… what…” he crawled to the nearest screen, his hands barely touching it like he thought it would burn him. “What… how?”

“I’ll check the breaker.” Liam assured him, racing to the door when the room filled with red.

Every screen was glowing red, a single line of black text blink in the center of each.

_It’s time to go home, Daniel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has shit hit the fan, yet? A little? If not now, then soon, I promise.


	30. Martyrs Need Not Apply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued patience.

 

Maggie had always felt a little outshined by the brilliance of her coworkers; what with Daniel living and breathing code, Jacqueline knowing the human brain inside and out, and Ed’s seemingly limitless intellect. Their skills were almost incomparable, but Maggie knew her worth. She had vision. Whereas her colleagues worked almost exclusively within their niches of expertise, she knew how it all fit into a bigger picture. She could see how all the moving parts became one machine. That’s why Leslie recruited her out of the CIA. He knew she would be in this for the long haul.

He also knew she was willing to make sacrifices. She’d given up any chance she or her son had at a normal life. She’d given up romance, turned her back on people she’d called her friends. She did it all willingly, and maybe she was still that person, but somewhere along the lines something had changed between her and Les.

He’d stopped trusting her. Perhaps he realized she was only willing to sacrifice what she herself could give. She wasn’t willing to cut corners or ignore ethics. Les wanted more than that. He didn’t want a martyr, he wanted a zealot.

Maggie may have been painting too generous of a picture for herself, but it no longer mattered. Les wasn’t the only one to lose faith in their partnership. Once upon a time, she would have told him anything – done _anything_ he asked for the sake of progress – but those times were gone.

That’s why when her monitor flashed with red and displayed a series of code, she knew it wasn’t a trick. She knew not to be afraid because this was the emergency exit, the final contingency plan coming into effect after so many years of silence. This is how Ed had tried to put the pieces back together after Kirsten’s first stitch.

Maggie recognized his signature in the blinking digits. It was strange to say, but seeing the array of numbers almost felt like seeing _him_ again. His mind and his spirit was in every line. He’d been so careful. At the time, she didn’t understand what for, but now she knew. Ed had seen Les’ betrayal coming for a long time – maybe even from the beginning.

She quickly transferred the data onto one of her burner phones and tore out of the empty lab like the walls were going up in flames. Everything seemed to blur past her until she got into her car and realized that her heartbeat was in her ears. Her hands were shaking slightly, as well, but that had become more and more common over the past few days. Fisher had been right, of course. A human could only survive on paranoia and caffeine for so long.

Breathing deeply, Maggie reminded herself that it was okay. This was Ed – _Ed!_ – and she could trust him. After another moment of stalling, she opened up the phone and found that what had been downloaded was some kind of tracking software, locked onto a location outside the city. There was a sinking feeling in her gut, and her instincts told her who would be waiting for her when she arrived.

The drive out of downtown gave her far too long to be alone with her thoughts, so she did what was quickly becoming her go-to for panic attack inducing situations: call Fisher.

The wavering sound when he picked up told her he was probably in an area with spotty connection.

“What’s going on, boss?” he said, faking nonchalance well enough.

“Have you found them?” There was no use pretending she didn’t know what he was doing, anymore.

“For Kirsten’s sake, I’m going to say I have no clue what you’re talking about.” That was a _no_. Maggie swore in French. Fisher sighed. “Hey if I were to know where they are, which I absolutely don’t, I would say that they’re safe and they’re onto something big.”

Maggie wasn’t sure how to feel about that last part, so she didn’t say anything. Instead she admitted, “I’m going to see Daniel Stinger.”

There was an indistinguishable noise, and Maggie was pretty sure he’d dropped his phone. “ _You found him_?”

She glanced down at the tracker. “I’m fairly certain, yes.”

It wasn’t hard to visualize the gob-smacked expression on Fisher’s face. His training was probably leading him down at least a dozen different lines of questing, but he simply asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

Maggie swallowed, glad that she was alone in her car and didn’t have to maintain a neutral expression. She took a few breaths to ensure that her voice would come out even. “He has answers that I need. I’ll feel much better once I have them.”

What she didn’t say was how dangerously relieved she felt at the possibility of Daniel being alive. It meant she hadn’t lost _all_ of her friends. It meant Kirsten wasn’t an orphan.

“Okay,” Fisher said after a moment, clearly unconvinced. “You know how to reach me.”

“Let me know when you find them.”

“Still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said – she could see the grin on his face – and hung up.

The silence that followed left Maggie feeling heavy, so she tried to get her thoughts in order. Black Berry had to be connected to Marta Rodriguez, somehow. The timing of it all was too suspicious: she appears in a stitch the same time as this mysterious figure in a wheelchair? Black Berry made an attempt on Kirsten’s life a few months after Marta had made an attempt on Maggie’s? It couldn’t be a coincidence. The two things that didn’t add up were what Black Berry had against the Stitchers Program and if she was working with Marta, why try to kill Kirsten when Marta had wanted to protect her?

Maggie’s skin was beginning to itch with anticipation by the time she pulled into the warehouse complex. The tracker was directing her to the last of six buildings, all looking to have been abandoned for years. Reaching into the back seat, she pulled out her bulkier Kevlar vest and fastened it around herself, then grabbed her gun and the tacker and got out of the car.

She wasn’t dumb enough to treat this like a regular bust. Daniel had been laying low for more than a decade, hiding like a rabbit in a burrow. If she went in guns-a-blazing, he’d scatter. She needed to be careful. The hangar doors to the warehouse were locked, not that she would have been able to open them by herself, anyway. She fancied a shattered window as her entrance, briefly regretting not changing into more accommodating shoes before going on this witch hunt.

Still, she hit the floor without a sound, creeping into the center of the open hangar. The tracker showed she was in exactly the right spot, but there was nothing here. Something akin to despair unfurled in her chest. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe this wasn’t leading her to Daniel. Maybe it hadn’t even come from Ed, but it _must have_.

She looked up at the overlapping catwalks, then toward the rear of the warehouse. There had to be something here, she just wasn’t looking in the right place. Pacing in a circle, she studied the few materials around her: several storage crates, a forklift that was definitely no longer functional, a rusty maintenance door. That would do. Surprisingly, the door unlatched easily. She couldn’t have been the first person here in years.

The stairwell was unlit, so Maggie crouched and used the wall to guide her descent. About ten steps down she could make out voices and froze.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.” The man sounded familiar but she didn’t recognize his voice immediately. “That message sounded more like a threat than an invitation. How can you be sure it came from Ed Clark?”

The mention of Ed stole the breath from her lungs, and the answering voice nearly knocked her back.

“I know, I know, Liam. You’re going to have to trust me on this.” Daniel said, sounding like he was struggling with something. “Ed wants me back in Oregon for some reason. We have to look into it.”

There’s a crash followed by a string of curses, and Maggie took the opportunity to shift closer down the stairs. She could see them now, Liam Granger and Daniel – looking like a hollow, unkempt version of himself. A toppled data tower lay between them.

Liam sighed, bending down, “Would you please let me help you with that?”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.” Dan huffed.

“We’ve been working together for how long? Four years? I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

“We aren’t working together, you just feel indebted to me for some ridiculous reason.”

“Hey, you could have sent me away, but you accepted my help.” Liam righted the tower and removed a series of hard drives, handing them to Daniel. “Because you know you need it.”

He only grunted, stuffing the drives into a backpack. “We need to get moving. It’s a long drive.”

Rising on her feet, Maggie stepped out of the shadows, gun at her side but clearly visible. The men jolted, though none of them reached for a weapon, which put her at a further advantage.

“I think you can tolerate a small delay, Daniel.” She said coolly, though her heart was rattling against her ribcage.

Her former colleague could only blink at her, as if he didn’t trust his own eyes. A thought in the back of her mind wondered what he was seeing. Did she look tired? Haunted? Could he tell how many times she’d imagined this meeting over the past sixteen years?

The shock gave way to the animalistic terror that Maggie had predicted. “Mags? You’re here? You… you have a gun.” His eyes widened as if he’d just noticed it.

“Just being careful.” She said.

“Sure you are.” Liam muttered, looking more annoyed than afraid, but he was smart enough not to move.

Daniel, on the other hand, was trembling. “How did you find us?”

Maggie swallowed. “Ed.”

He nodded like she’d answered a basic math question. “Yes, yes, yes, yes. That makes sense. So it’s true, it was Ed’s signal. Good.”

He disappeared inside of himself, his eyes buzzing around the room, not focusing on anything for too long. He turned his back to her, which sort of flabbergasted her considering she had a _gun_.

“What are you doing, Daniel?” She spoke slowly.

He didn’t turn back to her, instead began rooting through a mountain of papers on a desk beside Liam.

“We’re going home.” He said distantly, shoving a folder into his backpack.

Maggie readjusted her hand around the gun. “Not without answering some questions, you’re not.”

Liam glared at her murderously. Daniel whipped around, mouth gaping. “Are you here to arrest us?”

He sounded so timid, so unlike the Daniel she remembered. The contrast felt like a punch to the stomach.

She sighed. “No, Dan, I’m not. Les doesn’t know I’m here.”

He relaxed a bit, looking at her curiously. “What makes you think I can answer your questions?”

“Back in Phase One,” Maggie said, giving the words as much emphasis as they deserved, “Les confided in me because I was loyal to the project.”

“So was I.” he tensed.

“But you were also loyal to _him._ You believed in him; you trusted him more than anyone – more than me, more than Ed.” _More than Jac_ , she thought, but no, that was too far. “There’s things I know he told you that he intentionally hid from me.”

Daniel avoided her eyes like she was going to turn him to stone. “This is about Emily, isn’t it?”

Her neutral expression faltered. “Emily?”

They didn’t need to go into further detail. There was only one girl with that name that mattered.

Dan stayed starring at the floor, so Liam filled in. “Daniel and I have been working on a theory that connects Emily to this psycho that’s going after Kirsten.”

Maggie had half the mid to holster her gun, but she didn’t. “I’m listening.”

0o0o0o0

Fisher was stiff and grumpy from the drive, but sitting in the diner had calmed some of his nerves. It reminded him of his parents’ bakery – though it was a bit gimmicky in his unbiased opinion. His was in civilian clothes since this wasn’t a sanctioned assignment and it was nice not to have everyone eyeing him like they expected a burglar to be summoned by his presence. He counted down the seconds on his watch until it was half passed the hour. Camille called on the dot.

“What have you got for me?” he said.

“Well hello to you too, Fishy.”

He grumbled into the phone, but smiled a little, glad to hear her voice after a few days of radio silence. “Hi, Camille. What have you got for me?”

“That’s better. We made it to the house. This place has seen better days but someone’s clearly been taking care of it for the last sixteen years.”

“Probably Ed Clark, yeah?”

“Bingo. We found a locked door that leads to the basement. Fish, the whole thing is filled to the brim with old files.”

“Files of what?” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket for a notepad and pen.

“They’re all marked for _Phase One_. We figure it’s from the earlier stages of the Stitchers Program. Here’s where it gets creepy: there’s _thousands_ of files here on different kids, all between the ages of eight and twelve, all being pulled from the foster system.”

“The hell?” Fisher gaped, trying to keep his voice down.

“I know! It gets weirder. The majority of these kids were marked with inconclusive results. Cam and Linus looked over those that weren’t and said the data was similar to their first stitch tests: subjects report experiencing blurry images, vague sounds, nothing really useful.” She paused to give him time to absorb all that. “Then there’s this unnamed test subject: age nine, female, pulled from Minneapolis. She went through more tests than any other kid.”

“And?”

“Looks like they were prepping her for the real thing, to stitch.”

“What happened?” Grave silence answered him. “Camille, what happened?”

She swallowed audibly. “It just says _subject terminated.”_

Chills shot through Fisher’s body. He couldn’t believe this. Maggie wouldn’t have let… he knew she’d killed before but… _children_?

“You’re sure?” He pressed. He trusted Camille but this was almost too much.

“I swear Fisher. We’ve scoured the basement for more files on her but that’s it.”

Fisher laid his head in his hand, pressing against his temples. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That this mystery subject could have been Black Berry? It would make her about the right age.”

“Yeah.”

“But it said she was… terminated.”

“I know, I know, but this wouldn’t be the first time corporate goons have filed false papers to cover their tracks.”

He could tell Camille was skeptical, and if he were in a better state he’d probably side with her, but he couldn’t give up on Maggie without solid proof. He knew she was troubled, but she wasn’t evil.

“It’s possible.” Camille admitted. “There’s something I don’t get, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Kirsten said that Maggie suspected Ed Clark’s death and Jacqueline Stinger’s death were connected. But Jacqueline died almost two decades ago. Black Berry – if she is who we think she is – would have only been nine years old. There’s no way it could have been her.”

Fisher rubbed his knuckle methodically along his lower lip. He’d had a similar suspicion, but dismissed it because of the time frame. He had tried looking into Jacqueline Stinger’s death, but it was on lock down. Even his inside guy couldn’t get access to it. That boded poorly, adding another suspect to the already difficult list of people going after Stitchers personnel.  

Camille said quickly, “I have to go, they’re looking for me. I’ll call you tomorrow when I explained everything to them and then you can come to the house.”

She hung up abruptly and Fisher deflated a little bit. Her intel hadn’t done much to confirm or deny any of his theories, just tease more questions.

0o0o0o0

The men before her had every right to look fearful. Maggie was trembling, which wasn’t really a good sign for someone holding a gun.

“Les told us the experiment left Emily brain dead.” She seethed, her words molten.

Daniel threw up placating hands. “I know. I understand Maggie. That’s what he told everyone.”

“But not you.” Her nostrils flared and her finger twitched around the trigger.

He cowered – not in fear, it seemed, but shame, “No. Not me. I knew the truth.”

Her peripheral vision was turning black. “So this whole time, Les has kept her locked away like some prisoner?”

“A patient.” Daniel coaxed. “She’s sick. Her mind… it’s destroyed.”

“But she’s alive! She’s been alive and suffering all these years and you never once thought to tell any of us? We never would have stood for that Daniel.”

Water pooled in his eyes. “We were so close.” His lip quaked. “I thought if we just tried one more time, it would be worth it. Everything would have been worth it.”

Sick understanding twisted her gut. There was no warmth in her eyes as she looked at Daniel Stinger.

“Until he started threatening Kirsten.”

Daniel collapsed in a sobbing heap. Liam glanced at Maggie, then her gun, and rose his hands so that they were visible. He moved slowly to Daniel’s side, not touching him but making his presence know, trying to comfort him.

This enraged Maggie more than anything. This man had lied to her, to all of them. She knew where her faults lay, knew where she was to blame, but everything he’d just told her was Daniel’s fault.

“What’s this theory of yours, then?” she addressed Liam.

He shot her a spiteful look. “We think Emily was working with Marta Rodriguez to eliminate the leaders of the Stitchers Program.”

Maggie nodded. That she could comprehend. That she could deal with. “Do you know what facility she was sent to? Emily – did Les tell you?”

“ _No_.” Daniel moaned, stilling heaving on the floor.

A remote place in Maggie’s heart stung to see her friend in this state, but she ignored it. “I can’t confirm it, but I believe Marta helped Emily escape from that facility shortly after she was revived.”

Liam shook his head. “What I don’t understand is if Marta and Emily were working together, why did Emily go after Kirsten? Marta wanted to protect her.”

“That could have been a set up. Or Emily has motives that she didn’t share with Marta.”

The puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place. Maggie could do this. It was just a game, like the ones she and Ben and Ed would play on the weekends. All she had to do was focus.

She turned to Daniel. “Ed Clark messaged you. I tracked the signal. What was it?”

Finally, Daniel ceased his gut-wrenching sobs and looked at her. “He said it’s time to go home.”

Home. It was something Maggie hadn’t felt in years. Liam said, “We need to leave now if we’re going to make it.”

“You’ll never make it by car.” Maggie was already heading toward the stairs. “Follow me.”

0o0o0o0

Fisher probably wouldn’t have paid the woman any mind if she hadn’t locked eyes with him and froze. She stood still as a statue in the doorway of the diner, the tin bell above the entrance swaying over her like it was waiting. Matted blonde hair stuck out in every direction but it was her eyes, her wide grey eyes that gave her away.

She sprinted out of the store and out of the parking lot. Fisher’s instincts took control of his body as he leapt out of his booth and out the door.

“Stop!” he screamed, reaching for his gun as he rounded the corner.

She was gone. People looked at him frantically and he realized he didn’t look like a detective. He looked like a madman with a gun.

Swearing, he ran back to his car and called Camille. She answered on the third ring, clearly against her better judgement.

“ _Dude_ ,” she hissed, “not now.”

“Change of plans. I’m coming right now.”

“No, no, bad idea –”

“She’s here.” He barked, “Call the local authorities. Stay inside the house. I’m on my way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Settled in, loves, because shit just got real. Thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Say what?! Yeah, I’m crazy excited about this so I hope you’ll hang on for the ride. Thank you so much for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it. If you did, it would make my day if you would kindly fav, follow, and/or comment. Chapter two will be up in due time, but until then, I’m Rosie and I’ll see you next time!


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